FORGOTTEN MEMORIES
by DarcyDeFirth
Summary: Takes place after ww1. The astute reader will recognizes bits of JA mixed with JH. Some angst but I promise a happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

ARMISTICE

It was the eleventh of the eleventh of the eleventh or as most sensible people might say, it was eleven A.M., November eleven, the year nineteen eighteen. In celebration the bells began to toll signaling the official end of the conflict in Europe; the war to end all wars was now over. After four years of the world gone mad Johnny would finally come marching home or be carried home in a pine box. Broken bodies and minds would be brought back from France and sent to overcrowded hospitals all over England and mourning fathers would purchase tickets to France in the dim hope that they could locate the graves of their missing sons. In Meryton the old church bell would peal a simple melody welcoming their brave darling boys back to their homeland. But here in London there were more than forty churches each with their group of bell ringers eager to show their mastery of mathematical permutations created for just this day. The result of such exaltation was mixed. Every church no matter how small, had to get into the act and display their esoteric equations with a generous sprinkling of Bach who was no doubt rolling in his grave. To the musical ear it appeared that the bell ringers of London had discovered several new keys unknown in the western world.

Elizabeth Bennet slowly roused from a deep unnatural sleep brought about by too many gin and lemons the night before. She'd thrown caution and common sense out the window allowing her sister Lydia to lead her astray and for her sins would suffer for it. Her head had doubled in size, her brain had shrunk to half its size and someone had stuffed her mouth full of cotton. She wondered dimly how many brain cells had been destroyed during their merrymaking. Revelry had begun the previous evening and Lydia had insisted that she join her for the festivities promising that they'd return to their flat by midnight. Unfortunately the police hadn't co-operated but had turned a blind eye allowing the pubs to stay open well past closing. The last thing Elizabeth could remember was her sister saying "just one more, Lizzie". The rest of the evening was a complete blank though apparently they had managed to get home safely though she had no memory of it. Fortunately for both of them they had had the forethought not to drive but to party at one of the locals and thus she was not now awakening in a drunk tank but safely in her own bed. It was small comfort but at least she wouldn't have to call her parents to come and bail their well-brought-up daughters out of trouble. She groaned loudly and covered her face with the spare pillow but nothing could drown out the cacophonous sounds of London's deranged bell ringers and she finally gave up and gingerly climbed out of bed. Once she gained her feet she stood for a moment testing her stability before reaching for her robe.

After a brief search for the sleeve which had mysteriously disappeared, she managed to get the garment on and shuffled over to the dresser and dared a look at her reflection in the mirror. Lydia had been scolding her for the past month to stop sleeping her life away and get some fresh air with good reason. She hadn't been taking care of herself and it showed. Thin and worn, belying her twenty two years, it wasn't a pleasant sight. She was going to have to paint herself a rosy hue with some of Lydia's make-up if she didn't want her mother to swoon when she saw her eldest daughter for the first time in a year. As for her eyes which at one time had been described as fine by a flirtatious Captain Richard Fitzwilliam, they were no longer bright but shadowed with the memories of the last two years. She'd hoped that this short sojourn in London before heading home to Hertfordshire would begin the healing process so she could get on with her life and forget the ruined lives she'd left behind at the hospital in Sussex. She had to face the truth and admit that she had been doing herself no favors by seeking recovery in sleep. She seldom sought sunlight and as for exercise she managed to leave her bed and walk to the kitchen and back again. Instead of feeling refreshed she felt lethargic and drowsy and longed for more sleep. It seemed to be a vicious circle. She offered up a silent prayer that returning home would be the turning point; that walks along the paths of childhood would recover her spirits and she would be able to put behind her all the horrors of war.

She shuffled down the hall to the tiny dining area adjacent to the kitchen and found her sister sitting at the table looking like a dewy rose. Lydia stood up quickly and led her gently to a chair not even trying to stifle a grin. She was most attentive as she poured Elizabeth a cup of coffee and handed her a sweet roll. "Poor lamb," she murmured, offering her a bottle of aspirin.

"Go to hell," was the moaned response.

"Now, now, pet. You've got color in your cheeks for the first time in weeks. A little debauchery never hurt anyone. And admit it, Lizzie, last night was fun."

"I don't remember. And the color in my cheeks is a gin flush." Since leaving Sussex she had become reclusive seldom leaving the flat except to get the newspaper or pick up some take-out food. Another reason she was looking forward to going home. She hadn't had a decent meal since her last visit home. Drinking with abandon, flirting outrageously with strangers and laughing loud and gaily had been a radical change from her usual passing of time with a book. "I trust that I didn't take it into my head to dance on the bar?"

Lydia giggled, "of course not. But I must say that everyone commented on how beautiful you looked wearing that lampshade."

Despite her low spirits Elizabeth had to laugh as she regarded her younger sister with genuine affection. Three years divided them and when she left Hertfordshire for nursing school in London Lydia had been hardly more than a child. The age difference seemed as wide as an ocean but the three intervening years had narrowed the gulf between them to the point where they both considered each other as friends as well as sisters. Lydia could be very silly but she had an endearing way about her which Elizabeth found infectious. Perhaps Lydia had been right to insist they go out and have some fun. At least it had gotten her back out into the world. It was unfortunate that the aftereffects of having fun with her sister involved a hangover.

"Lizzie, I've packed a basket for you. Some chicken sandwiches and fruit just in case you want to picnic on the way."

Elizabeth glanced out the window eying the gray sky, "little chance of that."

Lydia shrugged, "you might change your mind. Driving today might be arduous and the inns will be packed. Every village and town in the country will be celebrating. It's a glorious day. All our men will be coming home."

"Most of them on stretchers, no doubt."

"Oh, Lizzie, don't say that. You're breaking my heart. You're so angry. The war is over. Can't you be happy?"

Elizabeth wasn't sure that it was possible she'd ever be happy again but attempted a smile, "I've become a dullard of the first order, I'm afraid, and I do apologize. I fell into the habit of looking through the glass darkly during the last two years and I've become a bore."

"You could never be a bore, Lizzie, but I do think it's time to snap out of it. The war is over and you did your part."

"I changed bedpans, Lydia. That's all a female nurse is good for. Saving lives was the function of doctors and male nurses. The powers to be only expected that nurses of my sex might promote a quicker and more complete recovery. I might have done some good in the field but I was stuck in a hospital. What a waste of my time."

"I'm sure that the men under your care didn't think so."

Elizabeth shook her head, "time to change the subject. I see you're dressed to the nines. Off for some more debauchery?"

"Alas, no. Just lunch with some gal pals. Jane and Charlotte teach at a fancy girl's school here in town. I met them last summer and we really hit it off. Unfortunately when they got word that a cousin had gone missing in France they took leave from their jobs and went back to Derbyshire for a few months. They're back now and we thought we'd get together and have a few laughs."

"And their cousin?"

"According to Charlotte, there was no trace of him. I really don't understand how a soldier can get lost. He's an officer, for heaven's sake. Don't they keep track of their men?"

"Lydia, now is not the time to describe a battlefield. From what I heard from some of my patients, it's utter chaos. It's easy to lose track of a man. Then again, if his ship was blown up and if he didn't die immediately there's no telling where his body might have ended up."

Lydia made a face, "how could you have stood it for two years? I wouldn't have lasted a day."

"Once I started I couldn't see my way out of it. There were times I wanted to run away, I felt so trapped, but the hospital was so understaffed. They needed all the hands they could get. I had to stay."

"Lizzie, why don't you join me today? I think you'd like Jane and Charlotte. It would do you good to get out and meet new people."

"I can't disappoint the folks. I promised that I'd be home tonight. You go off and have fun."

"Now you will drive carefully, won't you Lizzie?"

"I promise. And you'll come home for the holidays?"

"Wouldn't miss it." She leaned over and kissed Elizabeth's cheek, "please take care of yourself, Lizzie. You're the only sister I have and I love you very much."

When Lydia left the flat Elizabeth felt as if all the fresh air had gone with her. She had forgotten what it felt like to be so young. Lydia was so happy and full of life. She had a way of making you smile just to get a glimpse of the world as she saw it; a world of cotton candy, bright colors, parties and laughter. There never seemed to be enough time in the day for all the world had to offer her. In truth she envied her sister. She would have liked to share a few laughs with some gal pals. Her two closest friends had both married and left Hertfordshire for the far north where they had settled nicely and began to add to their family. Elizabeth couldn't even remember her own youth. Young men weren't the only ones to lose their green years during a war.

By the time she was dressed and heading for the car the bells were still tolling. Apparently work had stopped all over Town and except for the restaurants and pubs most of the shops seemed to be closed. Men, woman and children alike were waving flags and treating the roads as their personal playgrounds making traffic a nightmare. Despite her hangover and low spirits she managed to keep a tight rein on her temper. An unruly crowd could get nasty very quickly so she kept a frozen smile on her face and waved her thanks as the mobs made a path for her. Nevertheless it took more than an hour to reach the outskirts of London. By then her nerves were stretched taut and she no longer thought what a world of merriment their melody foretells, but only of the tintinnabulation of the bells, bells, bells. Those damned bells. And damn Poe! And damn the war that took men and sent them back sightless, missing limbs, with faces so mangled their own mothers wouldn't recognize them.

Three miles out of town her nerves got the best of her and she pulled the car over onto a large patch of ground off the side of the road and eased to a stop. Her hands were shaking and her heart beating so fast she feared it would rip her chest apart. That insidious headache never far from the surface pressed hard against her temples, nearly blinding her. Time stood still as she concentrated on breathing evenly while waiting for the pain to ease. Now only half aware of her surroundings she could still hear the tolling of the bells though they seemed more muted now. It took some moments before she realized that those were not the London bells tolling but were coming from the village a half mile further down the road. Bells would be pealing throughout the country for the rest of the day in celebration that the madness had ceased and their boys would be coming home. Then perhaps the real healing of the country could begin. Whether she would ever heal herself was a mute question that only time could answer.

Once her breathing had returned to normal and she could see something beyond a blur she grabbed a blanket and the picnic basket, silently blessing her sister for her forethought, and made her way over to a giant oak. After spreading the blanket she sat down and leaned her head against the tree and closed her eyes willing her body to quieten. These anxiety attacks instead of decreasing seemed to have increased in recent weeks and she couldn't account for it. She hated how her body and mind had betrayed her. She'd always thought of herself as unflappable, able to face whatever was thrown at her but dealing with the broken bodies and minds of young men had defeated her. Though she had lasted for two years she took no pride in the accomplishment attributing her endurance to obstinacy and the fear of being labeled a coward rather than strength of character.

Her father had warned her that nursing wasn't for everyone, that her heart was too soft and he of all people knew what he was talking about. He had been practicing medicine for a quarter of a century and he knew how difficult it was to keep emotions at bay. But there had been so much patriotic fervor sweeping the country three years earlier how could she not take up such a noble profession especially after seeing so many brave boys marching to the ships that would take them to France. They were so happy and joyous to be going into battle. She wanted to do her part in the war effort. And she had done her part, or at least she had tried her best. She had learned how to steel herself against the screams of agony and despair but in the end it was the wives and parents searching the wards for their loved ones that had been her undoing. Hearing the sobs when their searching proved to be in vain, and the screams when their search proved fruitful had in the end defeated her. When it was announced that in one months time the war would be done with and there would be peace throughout the land she turned in her resignation and left Sussex one week later.

The Director of the small West Sussex hospital had accepted her resignation with dismay offering a month's leave to reconsider but she was adamant. The only thing she would miss was her friendship with Captain Richard Fitzwilliam. Dear Richard always with a happy to be alive grin on his face, dismissing the pain of a shattered shoulder, making light of his broken ankle, gamely walking up and down the wards giving hope to his fellow patients where little existed. Her affection and respect for this young man had grown. As the weeks passed she wondered if she could possibly be in love or had simply let her empathy for so much anguish cloud her judgment. She suspected the latter. Another reason to leave. She had no time for love. Besides, Richard was an absolute darling and a first rate flirt. He hadn't been there more than a month before proposing marriage to a handful of nurses...one old enough to be his mother. Thoughts of Richard could always make her smile but even he couldn't hide the pain of his own loss. A beloved cousin had been lost in the trenches of France. It had been six months since the family had been notified that his cousin William was missing in action. Now that the war was over, Richard was anxious to heal his own wounds and return to France and find him. Every way she turned she found only broken dreams...enough to last a lifetime.

Her headache had eased and the steady rhythm of the bells had settled into a hypnotic drone and Elizabeth felt her eyelids begin to droop. She'd been up for two hours and already felt the need to sleep. She'd had little sleep at Sussex. There were always too many patients and not enough staff. The very young nurses hadn't lasted long seeing what bayonets could do to the bodies of boys not much older than they were. Even when she could find time to sleep terrible images invaded her dreams leaving her exhausted. Back in Town in the warmth of her flat surrounded by belongings collected in childhood she'd found comfort in sleep knowing full well that her problem lay deeper; She'd seen enough of depression in the past two years to recognize the signs. Her eyes closed as she listened to the 'bells tolling, tolling, tolling in that muffled monotone, feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone...'

She awoke with a start in anger and disbelief that she had allowed herself to sleep out in the open. Her watch indicated that forty minutes had elapsed while she had slept unmindful of the danger she had placed herself in. She glanced around quickly assuring herself that no one had seen her lapse in good judgment. It wasn't until she reached into her basket that she realized her fleeting glance had been insufficient. She hadn't spotted the young man who was sitting on a tree stump a few yards away. He was eying her with quiet interest but had made no move towards her nor did he speak.

She stifled a gasp of dismay and unwrapped a sandwich with a calmness she wasn't feeling. When she dared another look in his direction he was still staring at her. Her temper already frayed snapped and she glared at him, "what are you looking at?"

"You were...s..sleeping."

"And if I was? It's no concern of yours."

He frowned and glanced around, "y..you..were alone."

For a moment she eyed him in consternation not sure whether he was making a threat, giving a warning or simply making a statement. So far he hadn't made a move towards her but continued to sit quietly. Elizabeth hadn't moved either though in time she would wonder why. Instead of standing up to better defend herself, or at least be on equal footing if she had to make a dash for the car, she continued to sit leaning against the tree munching on a chicken sandwich . She focused on his faded uniform, "you were in the war?" When he didn't answer immediately she decided to ignore him, finish her sandwich and get the hell out of there.

"I think...s..so"

His delayed response drew her eyes back to him. He looked innocuous enough but anger at her carelessness made her lash out at him in annoyance, "trust me, if you'd been in the war, you'd remember it."

At her retort he bowed his head and remained silent. She wanted to bite her tongue. Two years working in a hospital for veterans and she apparently had forgotten everything since leaving Sussex. She was in the company of one of the walking wounded; poor souls living with forgotten memories locked away somewhere in the deepest recesses of their clouded minds. "That was unforgivable. I'm so sorry." When he responded with a slight shrug she attempted a smile, "what do they call you?"

"S...smith. B..but not my name."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding, "the army has no imagination. And what Smith are you? One, two, three...?" Speech had exhausted him. He held up two fingers. "Well, Smith two," she said, "have some chicken." He stood up and approached her accepting the offered sandwich with a smile.

For the first time she saw his dimples and took a closer look at him. He was young, maybe three or four years older than she was. Standing well over the average height he topped six feet by at least two inches. He was way too thin but that she surmised came not from deliberate starvation but from hospital fare which was nourishing but little more. A shock of dark unruly curls and somber eyes of the deepest brown completed the picture. The answer to a maiden's prayer she thought sadly. Somewhere a mother was crying herself to sleep or possibly a wife or sweetheart. "Are you married, Smith two?" Once more he attempted to speak but it seemed to be beyond him and he shrugged and shook his head. "Of course you don't remember," She continued talking to herself more than to him. "but somewhere out there is a beautiful woman waiting for you. Her name is Emily or Margaret or Patience. It could even be Elizabeth. That's my name, but it might be easier if you call me Lizzie."

"L..Lizzie," he repeated as if to taste the sound of her name on his tongue. "Lizzie."

During the next half hour Elizabeth chatted quietly as she had been taught to do at the hospital. One lesson she had learned was that an amiable smile could contort into a raging snarl without warning, but he was showing no sign of having a volatile temper. He listened to her rambling discourse about the weather and the celebrations that were taking place in town and never took his eyes off her face. When she got to the part of her sister getting her drunk the night before his eyes sparkled in amusement showing his dimples once more. By the time they'd finished their sandwiches and fruit it had begun to cloud up and Elizabeth knew she had to get going but hesitated. She had desperately tried to inure herself from the sufferings of the young men who had been under her care and had failed miserably. And here she was again, feeling dreadfully sorry for this stranger unable to imagine what it must be like to lose your identity. Memories of an entire life gone. It had to be so lonely not to be able to recall the face of a loved one, of friends and families, of all the shared experiences of a lifetime. She was on the way home to the place of her childhood where she would be welcomed as a beloved child. Even in her darkest hour she knew she could always go home and seek the comfort of her parents. To be denied the solace of family had to be so painful. Then again, was it possible to miss what you can't remember? She looked into his dark eyes and knew in her heart that it was.

When she stood up he immediately stood up with her then reached down and took up the blanket folding it neatly before handing it to her. She turned away ashamed to see the sad resignation in his eyes. She knew she had to leave him. He was a complete stranger and she knew nothing about him. What could she do for him? How could she possibly explain him to her parents? He could be a mass murderer for all she knew. He could be a master thief masquerading as a soldier. Or he could be just an ordinary soldier whose mind rebelled at the horror of war and sought comfort in oblivion much as she did in sleep. "Can I give you a ride?" she asked. He didn't answer but turned his eyes down to the earth and remained mute. "Get in the car," she said.

It had begun to rain lightly by the time they reached the village. Mercifully the weather was helping to keep most of the revelers off the street, and she made good time passing through. Her passenger sat quietly staring straight ahead until they had traveled a further half-mile when she felt him stiffen and she glanced at him in alarm. She followed his eyes to the sign on the edge of the road and pulled to a stop allowing the motor to idle before she turned to him, "will you be missed?" When he didn't answer she nodded, "no, I don't suppose you will."

Time didn't stop as the second hand on her watch ticked off one full minute. He didn't move but had once more turned his attention to the road ahead of them. With a sigh and a slight shake of her head she put the car into first and gently stepped on the gas leaving the Tynebridge Asylum turn-off far behind them.


	2. COMING HOME

COMING HOME

Once they were far away from the village of Tynebridge and it's environs Smith relaxed noticeably and as did Elizabeth. The last major decision she had made had proved faulty in the extreme. She could only assume that the decision to take home a stranger would prove to be just as foolhardy. But it was too late for regret. It would have been too cruel to turn back. In the next village she stopped and picked up a couple of bottles of pop which they drank in silence. What might be going on in the mind of her passenger she couldn't hazard a guess but she was wrestling with the various excuses she might offer her father for walking into Longbourn with a stranger. Only the absolute truth would serve. Anything short of the truth her father would see through. He was as cynical as her mother was sentimental.

As a child she was always bringing a stray kitten or puppy home much to her mother's delight and her father's sardonic wit. She hated to think of what they were going to say when she brought home a full grown man. Worse still, was what the hell she was going to do with him once she got him home. She had given little attention to the patients whose injuries were of the mind especially when no one really knew how the mind worked. Some doctors held the view that once a brain was damaged it could never be repaired. Others thought that there was no such thing as amnesia but only malingerers who were shirking their duty. Overworked and understaffed she herself had given scant attention to those patients whose wounds she couldn't see when there were so many others in such dire straits. Most had been able to face their horrific injuries with stoicism while others prayed for the release of death unable to face the future that seemed so hopeless. Still others, had refused to see their families unwilling for them to have a memory of what was left of the boy who had marched so bravely into war.

As they veered west the road began to narrow slightly and became less well paved; any money the government could spare had gone into the war effort. Making matters worse as the rain increased the road grew treacherous in spots especially when oncoming cars didn't slow up when passing. Her language upon these occasions belied her excellent upbringing. In one instance she felt the need to apologize and turned to her companion but except for a hint of a dimple showing on his perfect profile he didn't seem to be paying attention. Normally it wouldn't have taken more than an hour to reach Meryton but travel on such a day had not been the best idea she'd ever had. Ignoring the nasty weather every village was out celebrating and wanting to share their happiness with every car that passed through. That is to say, that most of the villagers were tipsy and some were downright drunk. They'd been offered and had accepted several paper cups of ale so she was feeling no pain when they finally reached the outskirts of Meryton. It was now nearing dusk and she was anxious to get home. She refused further cups of ale as she carefully maneuvered through the crowds and heaved a sigh of relief once they had reached the turn-off to Longbourn in safety.

"Well, Smithy, a mile down the road lies my ancestral home. It isn't the Ritz but it's large and comfortable. But there's a cottage in the back garden and I think you'd be better off there. It's my private domain and full of my books and other girly things. You'll have all the privacy you require. Naturally you can dine with us at the house or if you prefer, one of the servants can bring you your meals. How does that sound?" When he didn't reply she pulled to a stop and turned the overhead light on and took a good look at him and didn't like what she saw. "God, Smithy, you look like hell. You're not going to die on me, are you?"

"S..sleep. Need sleep. Too much ale. Not used to it. But g..good."

'Great', she thought. 'First thing I do is get my patient drunk'. She decided to bypass the house and swung onto the lane that led directly to the cottage. When he got out of the car she took his arm and led him into the cottage where he promptly headed for the bed and dropped down with a heavy sigh. She felt his forehead but it was cool to the touch and she rather hoped that it was just the excitement of getting away from Tynebridge and all the ale he'd imbibed on their drive that had caused him to look so flushed. She got him three aspirins and a glass of water which he obediently took before lying down. The minute his head hit the pillow he fell asleep. She felt his forehead once more reassuring herself that he was still alive. He was and she heaved her own sigh of relief. After managing to get his legs up on the bed, she removed his boots and covered him with a blanket. She stood for a moment staring down at this man wondering what on earth had possessed her to bring him home with her. She thought she had left her penchant for bringing strays home far behind her, but apparently not. She lit a lamp, then with one more look at him, left the cottage and walked back to her old home.

There was a gentle glow to the ancient house that had stood just so for more than a century and Elizabeth stopped for a moment taking in it's beauty. In her darkest hours thoughts of Longbourn had the power to give solace. It held all the memories of a wonderful childhood when the world was so new and now it was welcoming her home to its warm embrace. She could not imagine how different her life would be without the memories the house evoked. In her heart she knew that the stranger in the cottage also had a home waiting for him; people who loved and cherished him as well. She had a fleeting thought of putting an ad in the London Times. Lost: tall handsome man with no memory. Needs a good home. Free to anyone who will love him.

When she slipped in through the side door the first person she saw was their faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, who let out a shriek and embraced her in her ample arms "Oh my, but you're a sight for sore eyes, my Lizzie."

Elizabeth laughed, hugging her tight, "I've missed you too, Hill. More than I can say."

"Your mother is wild to see you. When it got so late she was afraid that you had changed your mind."

"Where is she, Hill?"

"In town. They're holding a memorial for all the Meryton boys that didn't come home."

"And father?"

"Where else would your father be? He's in his study."

As briefly as she could she described the guest in the cottage as being under the weather. As much as she trusted Mrs. Hill, she thought the less anyone knew of Smith's real problem, the better. "Can you ask cook to put a cold plate together for me? He may be hungry when he wakes up." With a final hug she hurried down the hall to her father's favorite room. She didn't knock but barged right in. Her beloved father was sitting at his desk, a book in his hand. When he looked up and saw his daughter he threw the book aside and stood up, his arms out-stretched. She ran to him and embraced him, "Daddy," She murmured, holding him tight. "I've missed you so."

"Let me look at you, child." He held her at arms length appraising her. What he saw didn't please him, "you've been neglecting yourself, daughter."

"Oh father, you were so right about everything. I should have listened to you. Nursing is not for me. I got too emotionally involved with my patients. I'm not cut out for all the pain and misery but we can talk about that later. Father, I've done something rather silly, I'm afraid. I...I've been up to my old tricks. I've brought a stray home with me. He's in the cottage and I'd like you to look at him. See if he's alright."

Her father stared at her in perplexity, "what kind of a stray?"

"About six feet two inches."

Mr. Bennet chuckled softly, "your mother will be delighted."

"No, no. It's nothing like that. It's a bit more complicated. Please, daddy, look at him. I gave him three aspirins and he was sleeping when I left him. I just want you to make sure that he's only tired and not seriously ill. And cook is making a plate up for him. If you'd be kind enough to bring it to him in case he wakes up. I..I promise I'll tell you all about it later tonight."

"Indeed you will, Elizabeth."

"Oh, and daddy, he goes by the name of Mr. Smith."

Mr. Bennet gave her a look but to her vast relief said nothing further.

As he left the room she saw the headlights entering through the Longbourn gate and rushed out to meet her mother who greeted her with happy tears, "oh, Lizzie, you're skin and bones. How I've missed you."

Her mother was such a tiny woman that Elizabeth was able to lift her and swing her around, "I'm home, mommy," she cried with genuine joy. "I'm home," and with that she dissolved into her own happy tears.

Their family reunion was as sweet as she had imagined it would be. Sitting around the dining table in the soft candlelight catching up with all the news was a balm to Elizabeth's soul and she felt the tension leaving her body and was able to finally relax sure that all would be well. It was wonderful to be able to laugh in genuine joy again especially listening to her mother describe the shenanigans that some of the Meryton natives were up to. According to her mother's droll way of thinking, half the inhabitants were scoundrels while the other half had turned dissolute.

Shaking his head, "you do remember," her father said, "that you can only believe half of what your mother says."

Elizabeth laughed, "yes Father, "but it's the other half that's so hilarious." She leaned back in her chair regarding these two beloved figures. If there had been a choice she could not have asked for finer parents than Thomas and Frances Bennet. They had treated their children with great kindness. They had been strict with their rules but always explaining why certain rules were necessary for their own good. Any infractions unless egregious were inevitably treated with benign humor and further instruction. There seemed to be no end to their patience, a lesson she hoped one day to apply to her own children. "It's so good to be home again. I think I shall never stray from Hertfordshire ever again." Her parents exchanged a smile and knowing look. "Well maybe not for a month or two," she added.

Later that evening after her mother had retired Elizabeth took a deep breath and joined her father in his study. Once he was able to reassure Elizabeth that the stranger in the cottage was simply exhausted and needed to fatten up and regain his strength, she was able to relax and describe how it had come about that she had brought a young man home with her. "I knew I should have left him but I kept thinking of what it would be like if I forgot you and mother and Lydia and what it must be like for his family wondering what had happened to him. When we approached the sign to Tynebridge asylum, I could sense his fear and I just couldn't leave him." Late into the night they sat in his study as she described the last two years of her life and of the things she had seen and heard. "I have such nightmares, father. I never knew the many ways a body could be destroyed. Or for that matter, a mind. Some of the boys at the hospital couldn't speak at all. They simply stared blankly into space. They didn't even know how to feed themselves."

"Then consider yourself fortunate that your young man can talk. From what he said, he's obviously an educated man."

"You spoke to him?"

"I did. When I walked in he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up and gave me a brief bow and allowed me to take his pulse, feel his forehead, and when I pointed to the tray of food he thanked me for my kindness. There's a slight stammer but there's a good chance that it won't last. If he hasn't had anyone sensible to talk to lately it might just be a case of nerves. I've heard some nasty stories about some of these hospital cum asylums. If you can't talk or have memory problems you're automatically considered to be insane and treated as such, meaning you're ignored and allowed to fend for yourself. No telling what he had to put up with or for how long. We don't know anything about the mind, Lizzie."

"I don't think we've been deliberately cruel, Father, but the body always came first. We knew how to help the wounded but we didn't know how to deal with the others. Most of the nurses were afraid of them."

Her father nodded, "for some the unknown is something to fear which is a good reason to keep Mr. Smith's little problem to ourselves."

"Is this new to this war or has it been going on forever?"

"Probably forever. There have been some new articles in the Medical Journals. Some are calling it a defense mechanism wherein the patient might have been confronted with so many scenes of death that his mind rebelled and he retreated into his own world. Some men have experienced blindness on the field only to regain their sight after a week or two. Civilization keeps advancing but the ways of destruction are never far behind. As for your Mr. Smith, while I was examining him I felt a thick scar at the base of his skull. I suspect that there was a piece of shrapnel or perhaps a bullet that felled him."

"What are his chances of regaining his memory, Father?"

'I have no idea but I want you to be very careful, Lizzie."

"Surely he's not dangerous?"

"Perhaps I should have said take care of your heart, Lizzie."

"Oh, Daddy, there's no danger of that."

Mr. Bennet was not convinced, "I give you fair warning, Daughter. I know how you can get with strays especially the warm and fuzzy ones. Just remember that if he could forget his home and family, he could just as easily forget you."

The thought gave her pause but only for a moment. If her heart could be immune to the charms of Captain Richard Fitzwilliam, a forlorn stranger could not exert any power over her, dimples and dark curly hair notwithstanding.

When she awoke in the morning her first thought was of him. She scrambled out of bed and looked down at the garden. To her surprise he was sitting on a stone bench his face lifted to the bright clear sky. He looked so sweet and vulnerable her heart went out to him. He had to be so lonely inside his head unable to remember the past that had brought him to this small estate in Hertfordshire. He had to be thinking of the future and what lay before him without the life experiences necessary to deal with a world full of strangers. She dressed quickly and ran down the back steps calling to him, "morning, Smithy. Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?" The look he turned on her made her stomach flutter and she took a deep breath before approaching him.

"Yes and yes," he responded with a smile. "I can't remember when I've had such a restful sleep."

She took his arm, "then all that needs fixing is a hardy breakfast and you'll be a new man."

Mrs. Bennet who had only been told that Mr. Smith was one of Elizabeth's patients and and been brought to Longbourn to complete his recovery in the country, took one look at him and declared him to be all skin and bones. "Lizzie! Make a plate for him before he faints. I don't understand you young people wanting to starve yourselves." She waved him to the seat on the right of her, "do sit down, Mr. Smith and tell me all about yourself."

"Fanny," her husband interjected, "let the poor man eat before he fades away to nothing."

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Smith, we can't have you survive the war and end up dying at the Bennet table surrounded by good food." She glanced with approval at the plate Elizabeth set before him, "now eat up for there's more where that came from. Our cook is very temperamental, Mr. Smith, and is easily offended so you must eat hardily or we will all suffer mightily."

"Yes, Mam," he responded, shocking Elizabeth who looked at him in surprise.

He gave a slight shrug and showed a dimple before he picked up his fork and began to eat.

He said nothing further during the course of the meal but listened carefully to the desultory conversation going on around him. Mrs. Bennet didn't remark on his silence but allowed him to eat undisturbed. It never occurred to Elizabeth that keeping her mother in the dark about his condition might in the end prove disastrous. She was only pleased that her mother had not asked any further questions but had accepted their guest with her usual warmth.

When she finished her breakfast Mrs. Bennet stood and patted Smith on the shoulder. "I'm off to the good will. We must this get this poor man some decent clothes." Mr. Bennet followed her a few minutes later to make his rounds.

Left alone Elizabeth eyed him nervously. "You mustn't let my mother bother you, Smithy. She has a good heart and she means well."

"It's...nice to have a m..mother. I like her."

"Oh, then I won't apologize for her again," she said with a broad smile. "So, are you up for a walk or do you need some more sleep?"

He was up for a walk and so they set out to visit the familiar paths of Elizabeth's childhood. On that first day she talked of everything and nothing waiting for him to respond with something more than a nod, a raised brow or a smile. Finally she ran out of things to say and lapsed into an embarrassed silence. When he looked at her in inquiry she shrugged "I'm rambling."

"I..I love listening to you."

"And I'm sure I'd love to listen to you."

"That t..takes memory. I don't have much."

"Oh, Smithy," she sighed, "isn't there anything you remember?"

"Lights and c..colors, sounds, faces. Voices. It's like there are different rooms in my mind. As soon as the light goes on in one, it goes out in another.

"At the table you said that it was nice to have a mother. Do you remember anything about your own mother?"

He shook his head. "At the hospital there was a woman. She..she was looking for her son. But I wasn't the one. I would have liked being her son. She seemed nice."

"Oh, Smithy, you make me want to cry."

"No, no. Doctor said it takes time. I'll remember."

In the days and weeks that followed they all settled into a routine. Smith would sit on the garden bench and wait for Elizabeth to come skipping down the back steps calling out to him, "morning, Smithy." Together they'd walk to house slipping through the kitchen to greet the cook before joining Elizabeth's parents in the dining room. After breakfast he and Elizabeth took long walks through the country side. Occasionally in the afternoons her father took him on his rounds which they both seemed to enjoy. Gradually he lost his stammer and began to speak more naturally though he still seemed to grope for the right words. Two weeks after their arrival at Longbourn Elizabeth came home from Meryton one afternoon and found Smithy and her father engaged in a game of chess. She didn't intrude on their time together hoping that the company of her father might illicit more memories of perhaps other games he had played and the people he had played them with.

One morning she panicked when he wasn't in the garden and she ran back to the cottage concerned that he had fallen ill...or had recovered his memory and had left in the night. But all was well. He was using her typewriter. The moment she knocked at the door the clatter of the keys hitting the platen ceased and he appeared at the door. She felt fear grip her heart as for the smallest tick of time he regarded her the way he might regard any stranger standing on his doorstep. Then he smiled, "Am I late for breakfast?"

Dismayed at her panic, she managed to return his smile, "no, not at all. The sideboard stays open until nine. I thought you had overslept."

"I've discovered I can type."

"Oh, have you? Perhaps you were a secretary?"

He looked at her in shock, "are men secretaries?"

"Oh dear. Are you a snob Smith two? Are you full of pride and perhaps prejudice?"

"I hope not. But I would prefer to be a reporter or a world famous writer."

"Would you settle for being a world famous secretary?"

"Are you teasing me, Miss Bennet?"

"I am, Mr. Smith."

"Then you may continue, Miss Bennet."

As she stared back at him taking in his sweet smile of amusement at their banter, her father's words echoed in her mind but it was already too late to heed her father's warning. Like a fool she had grown attached to him and the thought gave her no pleasure.

The weather continued to hold and they began to extend their walks taking in the countryside. One day she took him up Lucas Lane and pointed out an old building which had been broken up into several small flats. "It was called Lucas Lodge and it stood on a small estate. How I wish they'd had photographs a hundred years ago. I'd give anything to know what it looked like and what the people who lived there were like. All I know is that a William Lucas was the first mayor of Meryton but whether he owned Lucas Lodge is anyone's guess. The records they kept in those days were less than perfect. I've checked the church records but all it lists is that William Lucas and Johanna Wilkins were married, baptized six children and buried three. I wonder what happened to them all?" As they rambled she pointed out other estates that had been left to decay or had been torn down to make larger homes. "Everyone welcomed the industrial revolution except the small estate owners. The farm workers began to migrate to the larger cities where they could make more money for less work and England was never the same."

"I think it's called progress, Lizzie."

"I know, Smithy, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

She took his arm when they reached a wide meadow and pointed to the large mansion in the distance. "That's Netherfield Park," she said in awe. "Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"

He couldn't hide his amusement. "I can't remember but I'm sure I have. It's gone to seed, Lizzie, and really quite ugly."

"Last year there was a lot of work going on here. There were dozens of men cleaning up the grounds. I was quite sure that someone had bought it to restore it to its former glory. But mother wrote and told me that all work had stopped shortly after I returned to Sussex. I was very disappointed."

"The owner probably regained his senses and decided that it was a lost cause."

"Oh," she cried, "but can't you see how it must have looked a century ago? Sometimes as a child I used to sneak over here and sit in the dark imagining what it must have been like when it was clean and new. It must have been so beautiful then. It would have been all lit up with hundreds of candles..."

"Filling the entire house with smoke, no doubt."

"I'll ignore that. Dozens of carriages would drive up, their lanterns leading the way, and down would step beautiful ladies dressed in their empire dresses..."

"Wearing stolen copies of dresses worn by the Empress Josephine."

"Do be quiet, Smithy," she laughed, "you're destroying the mood."

"From a distance of a hundred years those times may seem romantic, Lizzie, and probably were to the very rich. To the very poor however , life must have been very hard."

She knew he was just teasing, but her spirits had soured. "For someone who can't remember his own history you seem to know a great deal. How do you explain it?"

He shrugged, "I can't. I'm just pleased that I can dress myself and use a fork."

Not quite pleased with his response, she released his arm and turned away from Netherfield. "I think we must return to Longbourn before it starts to rain."

Her mother who was sorely disappointed not to be able to give her daughters a brother to dote on, took great pleasure in seeing to his needs and no longer accused him of being nothing but skin and bones. He had gained a stone filling out and gaining strength, becoming more sure of himself. He now spoke freely at the table joining their conversations asking innumerable questions about life in the country. His appetite for knowledge was insatiable. With the holidays approaching Mrs. Bennet managed to secure him a part-time job at the local book store which seemed to please him. Elizabeth was ashamed that she hadn't thought of it herself. Staying at Longbourn, he wanted for nothing but her mother recognized that her charge needed to feel some independence which a few coins in his pocket would do.

A few days before Christmas her sister Lydia returned Longbourn.


	3. LEAVETAKING

LEAVE-TAKING

Lydia was expected for dinner but had rung up to say she'd be coming in late. The Christmas rush had been unusually heavy and the shelves were nearly depleted of their fine vials of perfume. One of the girls had called in sick so it was left to Lydia to help the owner replace the stock in the tiny showroom. Why her youngest daughter would wile away long hours behind a perfume counter had defeated her mother but Elizabeth knew very well the reason Lydia had taken such a job when it wasn't necessary. It was an exclusive shop in a prime location and Lydia had full expectation that one day the man of her dreams would enter the shop, fall instantly in love and carry her off to some enchanted land where she would live happily ever after. She also was quite sure that he would be a very fine gentleman and it went without saying, a very rich gentleman.

Elizabeth's parents had retired for the night and Elizabeth was lounging in her favorite chair reading a book when Lydia finally blew in and threw herself on a chair. "Well, well, well," she cried, eying Elizabeth with a wide grin.

Elizabeth laid her book aside, "I know that look, Lydia. Have you robbed a bank? Or have you fallen in love again?"

"No to the first and maybe to the second. I stopped in at the cottage."

"Ah. So you've met our guest."

If possible, Lydia's grin broadened. "Not exactly. Lizzie, why on earth didn't you tell me you had company? You might have prepared me."

"His presence in the cottage needs a fuller explanation than could be given over the phone. We still have a three-party line and I didn't want the entire neighborhood to know about him."

"Well, you should have written. I saw the light on in the cottage so I stopped for a chat and a drink. I heard the shower going so I opened the shower door to warn you that I had arrived. Quel surpris! Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie, you might have warned me that you were hiding such a wondrous creature."

"Did he see you?"

Lydia giggled, "the question should be did I see him? And yes I did. He was full of soap bubbles but he would stand out in a crowd." Lydia dissolved in glee, laughing so hard she spilled off the chair.

Elizabeth and her father had agreed not to enlighten Mrs. Bennet on the true condition of Smith for fear that she might say something in town or on the phone which would would have been fodder for the natives. But no like restrictions applied to her sister. "Lydia" Elizabeth sighed, "I think it's time for you to grow up. But first get off the floor and pour us a drink then sit down so I can wipe that smile off your face."

Lydia obeyed, "I must warn you that nothing can wipe the smile off my face after what I saw, but" she added with a giggle, "I'll try to keep an open mind."

Lydia's eyes grew large as she listened to Elizabeth describing how she had fallen asleep and when she awoke he was sitting on the stump of a tree staring at her.

"You must have been scared to death! Did he say anything?"

"He said that I was sleeping and I was alone."

"So he was standing guard over you. Sweet!"

Elizabeth frowned. That thought had never occurred to her.

Lydia continued to prattle, "The poor lamb! But perhaps he won't remember that I walked in on him."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "do be serious, Lydia and you might at least pretend to be repentant for walking in on him."

"Impossible! He's a remarkable specimen. It's just too bad I didn't have a chance to look at his face." She tried her best not to laugh at her cleverness but failed badly when she took a sip of her drink and began to choke.

As always, Elizabeth couldn't help laughing with Lydia, "would slapping your back help, dear sister? I'd love to put my hands on you right now."

Lydia shook her head violently trying to catch her breath. "This is priceless," she finally managed, "and here I thought you had lost your spirit of adventure. I can't wait to apologize to him."

"You will do no such thing. The less said, the better. And you will not giggle when you see him in the morning...that is if he shows his face. He must have been mortified."

"Oh, for heavens sakes, Lizzie. Don't mistake a man for a woman. A woman would have screamed the bloody roof down. A man is proud to show what he has every chance he gets. And if I may, your Mr. Smith must be the proudest man in England."

"And you know this how?"

Lydia affected a coy smile and batted her eyes, "I'm not just a pretty face, Lizzie. I do read."

"The Fashion Gazette. Yes, I know." Elizabeth continued to eye her sister with amusement. "Do try to behave yourself tomorrow. And keep in mind that he isn't well. No telling how he will react."

"I promise I'll be on my best behavior. And Lizzie, are you madly in love with him? Because if you aren't, I'll take him."

Elizabeth's smile faded. "Our father has warned me against becoming too attached to him. The last time I ignored his advice I lived to regret it."

"As much as I respect our father, Lizzie, he may have forgotten how love can make you throw common sense to the wind."

"I'm not in love."

"Why not? You're twenty two years old. It's only natural to have feelings for a man and you've got to admit that he's utterly gorgeous."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Then you're either blind or you're fooling yourself and I can guess which. You've had a rough two years and it's time to put it behind you. I won't dignify what I saw by referring to him as your boyfriend...more like your manfriend. Fall in love, Lizzie. That will cheer you up."

"Which is why you're the happiest young woman in England?"

Lydia threw her sister a sly look, "could be."

In her room an hour later Elizabeth undressed slowly wondering how two sisters could be so different. Lydia saw no danger in falling in love with a man who might wake up one morning and have no memory of her. She was perfectly willing to throw herself headlong into a relationship with a man she knew nothing about unable or unwilling to see the danger inherent in such poor judgment. To Elizabeth, however, it was only asking for trouble and a risk she was desperately trying to avoid. She was still dealing with depression over her experience in Sussex. How would she be able to survive such a crushing blow? She could never reveal to her sister how important he had become to her; how every waking moment centered on him. Worse still she seemed incapable of protecting herself. She had fallen in love for the first time in her life and she didn't know what she could do about it. She saw nothing but disaster looming before her.

Having a handsome young man on the premises was a novelty and resulted in peculiar effects. Their two servant girls had a tendency to walk into walls whenever he was about, the cook tended to giggle like a schoolgirl when they joined her for a midmorning cup of coffee and even Mrs. Hill's smile seemed a bit too broad at times. To all these attentions Smith seemed completely oblivious and instead of preening in being doted on with such enthusiasm, he seemed to accept it as his due and she could not help wondering why. There was no doubt that he was an educated Englishman with impeccable manners and familiar with the many classic books in her father's small library. As he grew stronger his demeanor had taken on a quiet authority and he had begun to engage in many debates with her father to the enjoyment of both men. Whether he knew it or not, he was beginning to show the knowledge of another life and it all smacked of great wealth and privilege. Someone had to be looking for him and one day they would find him. And then he would leave and take up the life that was meant for him. Facing the reality of her situation she knew she could never be a part of this new life. He'd be anxious to make up for lost time and he would walk away without a backward glance. For the first time in weeks she wept into her pillow knowing that she had to distance herself from him.

The following day brought a crisp December morning and to Elizabeth's relief neither Smith nor Lydia showed any signs that they had been not quite introduced the night before. Lydia behaved like a well brought up lady who kept throwing sly glances his way while he studiously ignored her. He was starting his part-time job that afternoon and seemed to be more interested in the reading habits of the Meryton inhabitants. His interests so wide-ranging moved from books to the children he had seen working on the surrounding farms. He wanted to know what kind of education these young people were afforded. Elizabeth stopped listening after a while and focused her attention on her sister who was now focused on Smith. Elizabeth refrained from leaning across the table to tell Lydia how impolite it was to drool at the table and settled for, "Close your mouth, Sister," in a stage whisper.

To her credit, Lydia snapped her mouth shut and had the good grace to blush furiously. Beside her, Elizabeth felt Smith turn towards them for a brief moment before turning back to continue his conversation with her father. Later, Lydia swore that Mr. Smith had winked at her.

"Are you sure he didn't have something in his eye? Lydia, I wouldn't get too excited. Mr. Smith has a quaint sense of humor. This morning I found him rummaging through the barn looking for a heavy chain to keep intruders out of his shower. Oh, and by the way, I gave him a key to the cottage this morning so you don't have to worry about walking in on him again."

Instead of laughing at Elizabeth's remark, Lydia regarded her sister curiously, "Lizzie, what are you afraid of?"

Elizabeth didn't pretend to misunderstand, "Lydia, he's no longer the man he was when I found him. Whether he realizes it, he's changed in so many subtle ways. It's only a question of time before he remembers who he is. And where would that leave me? He must have family somewhere. He surely has a wife or sweetheart longing for his return. Can't you see that?"

"I can see that you love him."

"Is it that transparent?"

"I'm afraid so. And why not? He's utterly delicious. If I had a man who looks at me the way he looks at you he'd have to beat me off with a stick."

"And how does he look at me?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, "like a piece of chocolate. Let yourself go and sleep with him, Lizzie. Get it out of your system then play it by ear."

On Christmas morning Lydia entered the dining room fully made up and carrying with her the heavy scent of musk.

"Good heavens, Lydia," cried her mother. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"Lady of Mystery. A gift from my dear employer. And very expensive. Don't you just love it?"

"No. It doesn't suit you."

Lydia turned a flirtatious eye on Smith, "and what say you, Mr. Smith? Do you see a lady of mystery before you?"

Smith studied her for a long moment. When he finally did speak it was with a serious mien, "only if you wish to be thought of as devious and greedy, Miss Lydia. I agree with your mother. You are much too young and innocent to wear musk."

Lydia blinked in surprise, "I think I've just been insulted. I prefer to think of myself as a woman of the world."

Smith smiled gently, "you may pretend to be so but I think not."

She returned his smile, "you've seen through me." She turned to her father, "what do you think of the perfume, Father?"

Mr. Bennet ignored the question and instead offered, "I've read somewhere that scent has the power to open an unexpected gateway to past memories. Apparently it can be more potent than sight or words."

"Yes," Mrs. Bennet agreed, "the smell of apricot pies baking always reminds me of sitting in cook's lap when I was just a babe. Funny the things you remember."

Elizabeth sat frozen in her chair hardly listening to the desultory conversation that followed nor did she look at her father. He had issued a new warning and Elizabeth had to heed it.

In the days that followed, Elizabeth saw little of Smith which suited her perfectly. Between his job at the bookstore he now confined himself to the cottage and according to Lydia he was using the typewriter so steadily he was going to run out of ink. Elizabeth purchased two spools and handed them to him that evening at dinner. He thanked her with a brief nod before slipping them into his pocket and turning back to her father. When she glanced at her sister, Lydia cocked a brow but said nothing. In the remaining days of her short visit Lydia never again brought up the subject of romance, love or seduction until the morning Elizabeth walked her to her car.

"Oh, Lizzie. I hate to see you so unhappy. You deserve so much more."

"I'm perfectly fine, Lydia."

"You are not! You love him. And he loves you. What on earth are you waiting for? Stop avoiding him. Take your happiness where you find it. You have nothing to lose."

"I have everything to lose, Lydia, and I won't risk it."

Defeated, Lydia embraced her sister, "when will you come back to London?"

"As soon as he leaves Longbourn. And he will leave here, Lydia. Every day he remembers more. One day he will leave and never look back."

Home now seemed like a cold empty shell. Her mother was busy with her charity work, her father was tending to his patients and Smith was working and writing. Already she was missing her sister. But more than anything she missed him. She had deliberately distanced herself from him and never once had he questioned her aloofness. She could only assume that he agreed with her assessment of the situation. It would do no good to become involved with each other when the future was so uncertain. That he agreed with her gave her no comfort and at times she cursed her good sense wishing she could be more like her sister whose motto was take your pleasure and worry about it at leisure. She made a mental note to send her a copy of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" as a lesson of what unregulated hedonism could do.

The weather continued to be fine during the next several weeks and she passed her time in solitary walks along the familiar paths around Longbourn. One day she decided to visit her old friend on Oakham Mt. When she reached the plateau she greeted the giant oak tree as she had done since childhood. Legend had it that the tree had stood there for more than two centuries. How many lovers had stood in her place marveling at it's beauty and strength? How many hands had moved across it's rough skin leaving behind the memories of another age or were memories as ephemeral as life? As a child she had sat for hours allowing her imagination free rein conjuring up visions of all those past lovers and wondering how life had treated them. Had love brought them happiness or had they been betrayed in the end?

When she arrived back at Longbourn the skies had begun to darken, fitting her mood. In her heart she felt that time with him was growing short and she by-passed the house and continued on to the back garden. She sat down on the stone bench unmindful of the damp and cold, thinking of what her future held. Once he was gone she would have to take up her own life again and that meant returning to London and finding something to do with herself. Both she and Lydia had inherited a hefty inheritance from their grandfather and neither needed to work but sitting around and attending tea parties everyday did not appeal to her. Nursing was out of the question and standing behind a perfume counter as Lydia did was just as unappealing. There were not too many jobs open to women. Teaching or secretarial work was about all that was available unless she brought a small business. She could buy al book store, wear spectacles and a bun and settle down with six stray cats and live happily ever after. She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the door of the cottage open nor sense his approach until he was almost upon her. When she looked up and saw his gentle smile she didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him. Here she was wallowing in misery and he seemed blithely unaware of her mood.

"Why are you sitting out here where you can catch pneumonia, Lizzie?"

She ignored the question and asked one her own, "are you finished with your memoirs?"

His smile deepened, "surely memoirs call for a memory and I have very few."

"Are you sure?"

He seemed bemused as he considered the question. "do you think if I remembered my name or where I come from I would hide it from you?"

"Of course not," she snapped, though she was sure that he remembered a woman who was devious and greedy.

He continued to regard her with amusement, "I've been writing a few short stories about country life; something anecdotal. Your mother and father have supplied me with wonderful stories that I think might interest the reader. That's all I'm doing, Lizzie. I have to make a living. I can't stay here forever. Your parents have been more than generous but I have to leave here eventually. I must make my way in the world."

His words fell on her ears like a death knell. "Yes, of course you do. And so must I. And now if you don't mind, I'll leave you. I've got to look for six stray cats."

That was the last real conversation she had with him for another three weeks. By then it was May and unseasonably warm for that time of the year. It brought a lot of rain with it making walks difficult so she contented herself with reading and brooding. Tired of both she had taken to retiring early only to stand at her window looking down at the back garden watching the lamp break the darkness, waiting for him to switch it off and find sleep. It was on such a night when she was sleeping fitfully and was awakened by a thunderous boom that seemed to shake the entire house. She scrambled out of bed and saw the sky streaking with angry bolts of lightening. A moment later all the lights in Meryton blinked out leaving everything as far as she could see in total darkness. She threw on a robe and hurried towards the cottage which she could barely see when another explosive blast echoed across the yard followed by flashes of bolts crackling across the heavens. She managed to get into the cottage before the thunder came and nearly deafened her.

He was standing at the window holding his hands tight on his temples as he stared at the sky. Even from the doorway she could see that he was in some distress. She groped in the small table beside the door and found the matches and candles that were always near at hand for such emergencies. She lit two and placed them on the mantle before she approached him calling his name softly.

He turned to her, "is the world coming to an end?" he whispered.

She took him by the hand and gently led him back to the bed and sat him down. His forehead was warm but not overly so. "How do you feel."

"Headache."

"I'll get you some aspirins." She gave him three and made him drink the whole glass of water. "Lie down now."

"L..lights blinded me. S..so much n..noise. I couldn't breathe. Felt like I was d..drowning."

Once he was asleep she laid down beside him, her arm across his chest pressing him close desperate to comfort him. His only memories from the deep past were of colors and lights and sounds. Like a storm? Like a cannon? Like the world exploding? Is the world coming to an end? She was losing him, possibly had already lost him. The past was intruding on the present and it bode no good for the future. She knew she should leave his bed and return to her own but still she stayed needing a memory that would last a lifetime.

An hour later she was still staring into the darkness her eyes filled with tears when he awoke and took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. He rolled over so smoothly and touched her cheek so gently she thought for a brief moment she had fallen asleep and it was only a dream. When he released her hand and pushed away her robe to hold her breast as he captured her mouth in his, she knew she still had time to get away but her body would not respond except to return his kiss. Heat enveloped her as he pressed his body against hers. She could feel his desire demanding fulfillment. He spoke not a word and fear gripped her wondering who he was? Was this Smithy or an unknown man who had trapped her body beneath his. Lydia's words echoed in her mind as she submitted to his demands and opened to him. When the piercing pain brought a sharp gasp from her he stopped, breathing heavily until he felt her relax before he continued his slow movement at last bringing more pain but this time the pain of pleasure. Not once had he stopped moving his mouth over her face in the gentlest of kisses but not once had he spoken and in the soft silence that remained of night they both slept until dawn broke and she quietly returned to her room and crawled beneath the covers to repent in leisure.

In the morning she had a tray sent up to her room unable to face him in the cold light of day. She'd never been with a man before and wasn't sure just how she was supposed to act when she saw him again. Was she supposed to act coy and blush or pretend that it had never happened? It occurred to her that she could always ring up Lydia and ask what the protocol was after getting naked with a man but it was only a fleeting thought. She could just imagine what her sister's reaction would be to such a question. Despite embarrassment over her predicament she had to smile at the thought of such a conversation.

She wasn't sure if he was working that day so once more she avoided the possibility of meeting him and remained in her room reading and trying not to think of their encounter. She knew she was acting the coward, but she also knew that her father was extremely astute and unless she could compose herself he would suspect that she had ignored his warning. He would not judge, but he would be disappointed knowing that she had brought upon herself possible heartbreak. It wasn't because he disliked Smith for he had become quiet fond of him as had her mother but his situation was so precarious and his future bleak. Unless he regained his memory any relationship could only be a tenuous affair. If he remembered his past life would he instantly forget her or would he be torn between two worlds? And if in that other world he was a loving husband and father who would he be likely to choose? Elizabeth knew all too well the answer. Last night had been a grievous error and she feared that she would live to regret it.

When the dinner bell rang she took one last look in the mirror and left the comfort of her room. She walked down the stairs slowly and offered up a silent plea that she would be able to retain her dignity when she saw him. Then she opened the door to the dining room. He wasn't there. She took her seat trying to look calm but her heart was beating fast.

"Smith not back yet?" her father asked.

Elizabeth looked at him unsure of how to respond, "I haven't seen him today," she replied.

Mrs. Bennet entered the conversation, "I dropped him off at the bus this morning. Perhaps the bus is late. Or he could have missed it and will catch the last one. If he misses the eight o'clock bus, he'll have to spend the night in London. But I'm sure he's on the way. The last thing he said was that he'd see me tonight."

"Fanny," Mr. Bennet said, "slow up. You say you took him to the bus this morning?"

Mrs. Bennet nodded, "he was walking to Meryton and I stopped and gave him a lift. I dropped him at the bus station."

"Where was he going?"

"Thomas, all the buses go to London."

"And from there you can transfer to every city in England. For heaven's sake, Fanny, you should have asked him where he was going."

Mrs. Bennet looked slightly confused, "and why should I ask a full grown man where he was going to spend the day? I'm not his keeper. I'm sure Mr. Smith can take care of himself. He didn't volunteer where he was going and I didn't ask."

"Father," Elizabeth said softly, "mother is right. She had no reason to ask." In trying to protect Smith from some impertinent questions they had kept his history from Mrs. Bennet and would now suffer for it.

At the bus station she waited calmly for the last bus to arrive. It came and went but she continued to sit quietly for a further hour before returning to the cottage. There she switched on the light and sat down willing her mind to come to terms with the truth. In her heart she knew he was gone. He would have called Longbourn if he had been delayed and not for a moment did she believe that he had miraculously regained his memory. No, it seemed more plausible that when he awoke he was assailed with guilt over what had passed between them. Guilt for having betrayed the family that had taken him in and treated him with such kindness and regret for taking advantage of the women who had been the means of his salvation. He did not love her and chose to put a distance between them rather than give her false hope. She would not search for him for he would not want to be found. She had to forget him and get on with her life. She would return to London and decide what to do next. Words of Swinburne crowded her mind "She would not hear, know, weep, love, care, see." That settled, she crawled beneath the covers and clasped his pillow to her face smelling his scent. "Smithy," she cried, "oh, Smithy."


	4. REMEMBERING

REMEMBERING

Charles Bingley was sitting at his favorite table next to the window of a coffee shop on the square. His days at Cambridge had finally come to an end and he was feeling both nostalgic and dispirited as he idly stirred his third coffee. With a determination bordering on masochism he had spent most of the day visiting the scenes of his first year in the city of scholars in an attempt to capture and hold tight to all the memories of that first year. He knew that he should head back to his rooms and complete his packing but it was such a gray and drizzly day and he no longer found any solace in the rooms that been his home for the past four years. His roommate had left that morning... not that he missed him, but at least with company he was able to focus on something other than grief. The past year had been hellish and as time grew short his memories of the friend he had lost had grown acute and his sorrow weighed heavily on him. He was in the mood for reflection.

Across the street a bus stopped picking up and dropping off passengers as his mind reached across the passage of time to the day he had arrived in Cambridge, perhaps on that very bus. He had been so very young, so wet behind the ears, so fearful as he had gazed around him seeing in his mind's eye the other young men who had once stood in his place. In turns, bullied or ignored by his sister Caroline, she had drained every drop of self-confidence from him, instilling in him the fear of failure. How could he possibly compete with the Miltons, Darwins and Wilberforces? Any drop of courage he still possessed dried up and he seriously considered heading for the river Cam and throwing himself in. Instead, with a heavy sigh he'd crossed the street and found his way to this very table.

On that day four years earlier he had dawdled over several coffees much as he was doing at the moment, prolonging the inevitable meeting with the illustrious Fitzwilliam Darcy. Why the gods had frowned on him by pairing the lowly Charles Bingley of Shropshire with one of the Darcys of Derbyshire he couldn't guess but he could see no good coming from it. He knew that a man of such power and wealth would treat him with disdain much like his sister did, and he saw the future unfolding like a Dickens novel where he played the part of Uriah Heep, bowing and scraping with the requisite hand-wringing. Only the promise he'd made to his father had brought him to Cambridge; only the fear of the sneers that Caroline would level at him kept him from boarding the next bus and riding back to Shropshire defeated before he had even begun. He often wondered how his life would have played out if he had returned to Shropshire, his head bloody and bowed. The thought of it still had the power to make him shiver knowing he would have been lost forever.

Their relationship had always been uneasy but had exacerbated at the reading of their fathers will when she realized that she would not share equally in the estate.

Her anger was terrible to witness as she cursed her father for spoiling all her plans. She had plotted for years how after her sickly fathers death she would no longer be a middle-class daughter of a shopkeeper but a great lady ready to take her rightful place in high society. A measly twenty thousand pounds could not possibly fulfill her dreams. It took her more than a week of drinking, weeping and the smashing of anything she could lay her hands on before she understood the futility of taking her anger and frustration on inanimate objects and turned her attention to her brother. The first thing she required was a townhouse in London where she would commence her social climb. Naturally she didn't expect to spend her money on the house, its rich furnishings or the roadster she would require to be seen in public. Always fearful of his sister he didn't dare refuse her requests. He bought her the finest automobile on the market and soon after left for Cambridge on a bus while she headed for London to search for the perfect house to begin her social climb.

Even now after four years he could remember so acutely the despair he felt as dusk slowly descended on the old town by the time he summoned enough courage to walk to the old building that had housed hundreds of students for the last century. He showed his papers to the old porter and was directed to the second floor where he was assured Mr. Darcy was in residence and with trepidation he climbed the stairs. His first sight of that august young man was as intimidating as he had expected. Darcy was standing at the window with a glass of wine in his hand. At Bingleys entrance he turned and gave him a brief once-over and nodded, "Down the hall, first room on the left." he said before turning his attention back to the window.

"So it begins," he thought.

In his room he had stalled as long as he could as he slowly unpacked his two valises putting them away neatly, then sat on the edge of his bed wasting more time by staring at the wall or the floor unwilling to leave the safety of his room. Caroline had warned him repeatedly that his timidity could only make him contemptible in the eyes of the world; that he'd be better off joining the army and get some backbone. Secretly he thought that his sister would prefer to see him dead. She was his sole heir and stood to gain a fortune upon his death. He knew he was being uncharitable but still once the idea was planted by one of his childhood friends he couldn't shake the belief that he was more valuable in death than in life. He shook off his dark thoughts and after a brief wash-up returned to the common room.

Darcy was still standing at the window and eyed him with some curiosity before waving him to the side-table which displayed a various assortment of liquors, "help yourself. And if you've a mind to, you can join me for a meal down at the square. I'm famished."

With that inauspicious beginning there came to be an abiding friendship between the two men as inconceivable as it seemed at the time. At no time had Darcy treated him with disrespect or less than genuine kindness. If he noticed any undue diffidence in Bingleys behavior he never remarked on it but simply offered help where needed. Darcy saw him through the ordeal of getting a counselor and the classes needed for first year students, introduced him to some of his friends and by example showed him how to study and prepare for the examinations that would follow. They dined and studied together and in the evening always found the time to simply relax and enjoy a nightcap before heading for their beds to rest so they could start the whole process again in the morning.

Looking back on that first year of college Bingley knew that everything he was or ever would be he owed to Fitzwilliam Darcy. Darcy had given him self-confidence and laid the foundation for the remaining three years at school and today he had completed the task set by his father. He had graduated in the top ten percent of his class and could now be considered an educated Englishman, the pride of his nation. This day should have been filled with great joy. Darcy should have been there offering his congratulations. They had forged a friendship that would last a lifetime. Instead only the deepest sadness filled Bingleys heart knowing how short that lifetime would prove to be.

When the zeppelins flew over London in the fall of 1915 and dropped their bombs killing 39 citizens Darcy wanted to immediately take a commission in the army and do his part in the war effort but his sister pleaded with him not to. They had lost their parents in an automobile accident shortly after the war began and she couldn't bear the thought of losing her brother as well. When his cousin Richard assured him that the war couldn't last much longer Darcy had put his doubts behind him. But the war didn't end and his letters to Bingley were almost distraught in their anger and frustration as he described the returning soldiers and their destroyed lungs due to the enemy using mustard gas. Apparently the Gentlemens Rules of war no longer applied. Still, why Darcy had decided to leave Pemberley and join the army seemed incomprehensible. He could never forget the shock and dismay he experienced when Darcy walked into his old Cambridge rooms dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant in His Majestys Army. He had come to say goodbye to his old friend. He was heading for France. That a man with his brilliant mind, a man who used his great wealth to better the lives of the poor, seemed to Bingley like a terrible waste and he had begged Darcy to change his mind. "Why you?" He had pleaded.

"Why not me?" Darcy had replied.

Bingley had no answer; not when so many men had left their homelands to fight an enemy determined to rule the world.

Once more he felt his sadness welling in his eyes and turned to the window gazing listlessly at the crowds rushing to and fro with such determination wondering if any of them realized just how short-lived life was. But of course they did. There wasn't a family in England who hadn't been touched in some way by the horrors of war; hadn't welcomed home the wounded bodies and minds of their fathers, brothers and sons. They called it the war to end all wars. And it probably was until the next war. There would always be another war.

Across the street another bus pulled up and idled a few seconds before going on it's own hurried way. Three people had been left on the corner. Two of them hooked arms and immediately headed down the street. The third, an extremely tall man stood on the curb in apparent indecision. Bingley focused on the man and blinked in shock and disbelief convinced that he was losing his mind. After that, everything moved in slow motion. He saw the man step carelessly into the street and he heard the terrible screech of tires. From the corner of his eye Bingley saw the cab hurling towards the man managing to stop but not before the cab knocked him to the ground. Bingley sat transfixed by the sight before him and felt incapable of movement for interminable seconds.

By the time he reached the street a large crowd had gathered around the fallen man. The cab driver was distraught and begging anyone who would listen that it wasn't his fault. A policeman had mysteriously appeared and had his notebook at the ready and three men were struggling to lift the victim and finally managed to carry him to a nearby apothecary. Bingley pushed his way though the crowd and followed them into the shop. They had laid him on the floor and were hovering over him while the pharmacist was examining his head searching for any bruises or blood. Once the good Samaritans got out of the way Bingley had his first good look at the victim and gasped unable to believe his eyes. He watched as the pharmacist applied a dose of smelling salts which had the immediate effect of waking his patient who lashed out knocking the bottle of salts clear across the room. He sat up and glanced around before settling on Bingley. "Charles," he rasped, "what the hell has happened?" Bingley was unable to find his voice but simply stared at him. "Help me up, damn it!"

The druggist hastened to advise him to have a care, "sir, you've been hit by a cab. You might have a concussion."

"Nonsense!" he barked. "Bingley, help me up."

Any lingering beliefs he had of his own sanity were dispelled with the sound of that deep resonant voice. He approached Darcy cautiously and with some difficulty got him to his feet then stepped back and eyed this man who looked the same but somehow different. For the first time he noticed the clothes Darcy was wearing. The man he had known wouldn't be caught dead wearing such apparel and for another moment Bingley doubted his senses. He couldn't come to terms with the Fitzwilliam Darcy who had died in France with this man who now stood somewhat unsteadily on his feet. But any doubts that this was the real Darcy were finally done away with when the police officer entered the shop and with an officious swagger approached Darcy and asked if he had been drinking.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" he snapped. It was rather comical to see the civil servant step back a pace as he stuttered out an immediate apology which Darcy waved away impatiently. In a voice that would brook no argument he accepted all responsibilities for his own carelessness and limped past the civil servant with Bingley following in his wake.

Outside, Darcy lost his authoritative demeanor and in a faint voice implored Bingley to get him home before he passed out. As Bingley assisted him up the street to their rooms he still could not find his voice. Darcy didn't seem to find this unusual or at least not enough to remark on it. Bingley couldn't take his eyes off his friend who was obviously in pain but he had been assured by the pharmacist that no bones were broken though Darcy would have a large bruise and it would be tender for at least a week. The porter wasn't at his desk when they entered the building and for that Bingley heaved a sigh of relief. How on earth could he explain Darcy's rise from the grave when he still couldn't fathom it himself. Where had he come from? What had he been doing all this time? If the newspapers got wind of this they'd have a field day. Darcy's face would be plastered over every rag in London. When Bingley opened the door to his chambers Darcy stopped abruptly staring around as if he had never seen the room before. "You've made a few changes here."

"Well, it's been a year since you were here, Darcy," Bingley replied nervously. "And I had another roommate during this last year."

Darcy turned to look at his friend for a long moment before he made his way over to his favorite chair and lowered himself gingerly into it's comfort. Bingley hurriedly poured a large amount of brandy and swallowed half of it before pouring another and handing it to Darcy who accepted it absently. Bingley took a chair opposite and continued to stare at his old friend.

"You're unnerving me Bingley."

"Forgive me, Darcy, but if anyone's unnerved it has to be me. Not one hour ago I sat at our table in our café sipping coffee all tearful and mourning your loss. Next thing I see, a ghost appears and walks in front of a cab. I was quiet sure I'd finally lost my mind so don't you dare bark at me." Bingley had finally found his voice and stood up and began to pace. "Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what you've put us all through? Georgiana is grief stricken. And since armistice Richard has been all over France looking for your grave. Do you have any idea of how he felt telling your sister he couldn't even find your body? If I'm staring at you it's because I can't believe you're in this room sitting here calmly sipping brandy when we all thought you were dead." Bingley grabbed the decanter and refilled both glasses before dropping heavily in his chair. "You've been missing for almost a year. What happened to you? Where have you been all this time? God, Darcy, I want to cry." To his shock and dismay when he looked at Darcy he saw the tears coursing down his face and he clamped his mouth shut ashamed of his outburst.

"What year is it, Bingley?" Darcy asked softly.

For a moment Bingley thought he'd misheard but seeing the sadness of Darcy's countenance he felt his heart stop, and he replied just as softly, "It's nineteen nineteen. May Fifteen."

Darcy nodded. "I boarded a ship in June nineteen eighteen. I don't remember anything after that until I awoke in that shop and saw you standing over me. Where I've been or what I've done since that morning is a complete blank. And I'm not sure just what I'm going to do about it."

"We have to call Richard. He'll know what to do."

"No! My head's spinning. I'm not up to explaining anything to him. I think I'm missing something but I don't know what it is."

"For heavens sake, Darcy, what you're missing is an entire year out of your life." After a moment, Bingley decided that Darcy was in no condition for the excitement that Richard would generate and Bingley wasn't in any condition to argue with Darcy so he let it go for the moment. "Well empty your pockets then. Surely you're carrying some kind of clue as to where you've been."

Darcy reached into his inside pocket and retrieved a wallet and an envelope. The wallet contained two one pound notes. The envelope contained three sheets of paper which he scanned quickly before handing them to Bingley.

Bingley skimmed through one of the pages then glanced briefly over the other two. "They appear to be stories. Something you wrote perhaps. All three are titled "Country Life". Does that ring a bell?"

Darcy shook his head, "nothing." With difficulty he stood up and reached into his trouser pockets and laid a few coins and a keyring on the table. He picked up the keyring and studied it.

"Anything?"

Once more Darcy shook his head. "One door key but nothing unique about it. The keyring might offer a clue. It's engraved with a name."

"What is it?"

"Smithy."

"Smithy? Smithy Arms? Smithy Flats? What kind of a name is that?"

"I have no idea."

"Could you have been a blacksmith?"

Darcy threw him a look which Bingley recognized, "Seriously, Bingley, do I look like a blacksmith?" He held up his palms, "I doubt it. Whatever I was doing, it wasn't manual labor."

"Well, you don't much look like a gentleman farmer either. More like a farmhand. Otherwise you look fine. You've obviously not been starving. And the key indicates that you had a place to stay. Money in your pocket suggests a job. You were making some kind of life for yourself. When we get to London we'll hire some detectives who are sure to find a place called Smithy."

"Yes. Perhaps."

"Now I suggest you get some sleep. Your room is available. You need sleep right now." Darcy didn't argue when Bingley stood up and took his arm and helped him down the hall. Now with two large brandies under his belt this wasn't an easy task but he was able to get him to his old room and settle him on the bed.

Back in the common room Bingley considered his options. Darcy couldn't stay at Cambridge. The Churches and colleges regularly read out the names of the students who had perished in the war. Once he was seen on the street word would spread like wildfire and would no doubt reach the ears of a reporter. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man of great importance not only in Derbyshire but in London as well. Known for his humanistic values he worked tirelessly for the underprivileged using his wealth to improve the lives of the poor. In particular he focused on the lack of regulated education for the children of the poor. It was his contention that England would suffer if they didn't take advantage of every mind in the country. He advocated laws making it mandatory to attend schools beyond ten years and that their teachers be well educated. Along with slate and chalk he deemed it necessary to provide paper and pen, maps and up-to-date books. It was imperative that every child in England should be able to read and write for they were the future. Despite his commitment to raising the level of education for the poor, Darcy himself eschewed publicity but instead delegated certain powers to trustworthy men. He would go absolutely mad if he found himself the center of attention especially if he couldn't explain where he had been for the past year. There was telling how he would react if his face appeared in the London Times. No. He had to call Richard and let him handle it.

He reached for the phone when suddenly an image of Caroline flashed before his eyes and his heart sank. Now panic set in. How on earth could he explain to Darcy that his sister Caroline now made her home at Pemberley? How on earth could he possibly explain this ghastly turn of events. Granted he was not responsible for anything Caroline did. Not only that, but he hadn't spoken to his sister in nearly a year. And granted, she was only the housekeeper or as she would put it, the household manager, but the days when the position of housekeeper was just a cut above servant had long past. Now that there were more opportunities for gainful employment for women a good housekeeper was hard to get or keep. Schools were now open to teach the craft of private service expertise whose sole purpose was the management of complex homes and lifestyles. Would-be butlers and housekeepers now attended school to learn their trade and were in great demand. Americans were particularly interested in butlers and household managers who spoke with British accents. They made perfect gifts for their wives.

Darcy would have his head on a stick! It had taken Caroline nearly four years before she accepted the fact that she would never be the grand dame she had always seen herself as unless she married very well. Unfortunately, she couldn't marry very well unless society accepted her and they didn't. The nouveau riche were considered to be persona non gratae as it had been for centuries. In no way did people of her ilk have the experience, finesse or taste to use wealth in the same manner as old money...those persons who came from families that had been wealthy for multiple generations. Her only chance to change all that had been upon meeting Fitzwilliam Darcy. And he wasn't having any of it, not because of her background but because he regarded her as a greedy and devious woman whom he found offensive in every way possible. It hadn't stopped her from seeking him out every chance she got and stalking her prey had only stopped at the news of his death.

Months earlier she had been wildly enthusiastic about being offered a position in the household of one of the richest families in New York and he had been ecstatic to think that more than three thousand miles would separate him from Caroline. But it had all come to naught. He could still hear her voice the night she called him to gloat that she had been offered the position at Pemberley. At Pemberley of all places! She had been wangling an invitation to Darcy's estate for more than three years. Her brother had risen mightily in her estimation once she heard who his roommate was. It sank almost as quickly when Bingley failed to procure an invitation to Pemberley. Her announcement had come scarcely a month after the dreadful news that Darcy was lost in action. Still heartbroken over Darcy's death he hadn't asked how such an offer had come her way at such a time but had dropped the phone in it's cradle. He hadn't spoken to his sister since that terrible night but had called his housekeeper with instructions to send every trace of her to Pemberley. Following that call he had penned a terse note to his sister advising her that she would no longer be welcome in his home. Once that was done he preceded to drink himself into oblivion.

There would be no drinking on this night. He had to keep his wits about him, ready to assist Darcy in every way possible. Once more he looked in on his best friend who was sleeping peacefully unaware of the changes that had taken place at Pemberley. Caroline had been trying to bed him from the moment she'd met him. He shuddered to think her reaction when she learned that the object of her greed and lust was alive and not very well. He could just imagine the sticky web she would weave over him taking advantage of his weakness. Darcy had always been a perfect gentleman to his sister, always keeping a stoic countenance when he had to find vast amusement in her machinations. But what manner of man was he now? To have lost an entire year of your own existence had to have changed him in some way but he had to believe that the essence of the man remained and he could only imagine how he would react once he learned just how many changes had taken place during his absence. With that thought in mind, Bingley picked up the phone and called Richard.

There was no conception of time, only the pleasure of a warm summer day as they raced towards the village of Lampton. Across the broad emerald lawns they sped on bronzed legs until they soared high above the dry stone hedges like the golden gods of light and sun. They surged still higher with only their childish shouts of joy breaking the silence. They were gods! Unconquerable spirits! Young and strong and happy to be alive. Higher and higher they flew until suddenly an alien sound began to reverberate though the air, a sound that began as a whisper on the wind and soon became abrasive and insistent. His companion began to flicker like a soft breeze against a candle. In despair he called out to his companion biding him to stay. He tried desperately to stay aloft and cried out in a silent plea but nothing could save him for the sound now had become abrasive and insistent. Richard crashed to earth waking up with a start not sure where he was but Darcy had faded away and he felt his heart break once more. The phone continued to ring demanding his attention. As an officer in His Majesty's Service he had to answer. With resignation, he picked up the receiver.


	5. RICHARD

For nearly five months Richard Fitzwilliam had put his life on hold. He had sent letters to every hospital in England inquiring after his cousin. Full descriptions typed carefully listing every attribute he could remember; height, weight, mole high on his left shoulder, dark curly hair, dark eyes, scar on left elbow. Everything but the dimples which he thought might be misunderstood. There had been few replies none of which offered much help. Record keeping was in complete chaos. There seemed to be no method to the madness. They were shipping casualties back to England and settling them wherever there was an empty bed. As the war entered its fourth year they had run out of beds and were now placing patients wherever they could find space. This sufficed for most of the veterans but for the ones who had suffered head injuries the results were catastrophic. They had opened wings and had dumped those poor men to fend for themselves. Making the situation worse, no one seemed to care. They had too much on their plate to spare time for men they couldn't help. Once his ankle healed and he was able to get around with more ease Richard returned to France scouring the countryside searching for any remaining field hospitals seeking any information that would lead him to his cousin or his grave. All these long months he'd seen so many images of his cousin lying mortally wounded in some field hospital. Other times words written of war would run through his mind picturing Flanders Fields and the blood red poppies blowing between the white crosses. He had searched so many like fields looking for his favorite cousin. By the time he returned to England his anger and frustration was intense, feeling that his country which he had served faithfully for six years had betrayed the men who had fought so valiantly.

As promised, he'd kept his niece Georgiana apprised of his progress. In the beginning he had offered her hope that Darcy would be found alive. Towards the end, when he had lost all hope he could no longer in good conscience hide the truth from her. Upon his return to England he'd gone straight to the Darcy townhouse to tell his beloved niece that he now had little hope that Darcy was alive nor would his body ever be found. The finality of his words brought tears to Georgiana's eyes but after a year of disappointment Georgie accepted the truth with a maturity that belied her eighteen years. Instead of comforting Georgie it was the other way around. She embraced him, holding him tight, whispering words of comfort. When he returned to his flat exhaustion overwhelmed him and he sat down and for the first time in weeks he wept before finding solace in sleep. And then the phone rang waking him from a dream of the golden days of youth when the world was still sane.

Sometime later that evening Richard sat alone and in the dark staring blankly at nothing at all, his body numb and his brain devoid of any rational thought. Ten full minutes had passed since hearing from Bingley yet his mind still couldn't grasp the news that Darcy was alive and now asleep in his old bed at Cambridge. He had been napping when the phone rang and was still half asleep when Bingley, bless his heart, tried to break the news as gently as he could. But in the end there was no way Charles could avoid blurting out the truth nor for Richard to believe their conversation anything but a dream. He couldn't remember half of what Charles had told him. He had gone into shock and still couldn't accept that his cousin was actually alive. Amnesia was not a foreign term to him. He'd seen enough cases in Sussex to know that men could actually forget how to tie their shoelaces. The thought that Darcy could be in such a state was not to be endured. He had to remember that Bingley had assured him that Darcy was acting perfectly normal. He simply had lost a year out of his life. But how could it be? Where had he been? He couldn't have lived in a vacuum all these months. There had to be people who had taken care of him. They had fed and clothed him, perhaps even came to love him. Where were these people now? And how would Georgiana react when she heard the news? Poor sweet Georgie whohad just that night finally accepted that her brother was dead now had to be told that her brother was alive and in England. And she had to be told before she returned to Pemberley. Pemberley! Oh my God! Pemberley!

Richard stood up abruptly feeling lightheaded and stumbled over to the liquor cabinet and poured a healthy amount of scotch and took a gulp. How on earth would he be able to tell Darcy of the changes that had taken place in his absence?

Three days after she was notified that her nephew was missing in action their aunt Catherine arrived at Pemberley in her ancient roadster declaring that as Georgie's nearest female relative she would happily assume the responsibilities of the estate and her darling niece. Lady Catherine had ensconced herself at Pemberley under the pretense of caring for her niece. This declaration fooled no one...not even the servants. It was common knowledge that she cared little for her niece any more than she cared for her stepdaughter, Anne. Everyone knew what she wanted and that was Rosing's Park. That estate had been lost by the extended family more than five decades earlier through bad management and the card tables. She had been pleading with Darcy for years to purchase Rosing's Park for her so that she could take her place as the mistress of the estate and by extension become the leading light of Hunsford village. That the estate had lain fallow for more than two decades mattered not to her for money could bring it back to its former glory. Darcy had proved stubborn and refused her every entreaty. Now with Darcy out of the way and Georgie in deep shock, she felt that now was the time to enlist her darling niece in restoring Rosing's Park to the family. Worse still, she had brought her toad of a suitor with her. Lady Catherine was bad enough, but the odious Mr. Collins with his mincing gait and pencil thin mustache was truly a sight to behold. There would be hell to pay when Darcy got a load of what was waiting for him at Pemberley. He shuddered to think of Darcy's reaction the first time he heard Mr. Collins address their aunt as "Kittykins".

And then there was Caroline Bingley. Mrs. Reynold who had been the housekeeper at Pemberley for thirty years had decided to retire. With her beloved master dead in a foreign land and little Georgie now grown up to be a fine young lady , she no longer found a purpose in life and preferred to remember Pemberley as it was and not ruled by a middle-aged drunk or take orders from her paramour. Mrs. Reynolds abrupt departure suited Lady Catherine just fine and when six or seven servants gave their notice it was even better. She much preferred to hire her own employees who would be faithful to her and her alone. Being a well-known patron of a particular employment agency in London...she seldom retained servants for more than a month... she was delighted to find the perfect housekeeper. Fresh out of housekeeping school Lady Catherine was sure that Caroline Bingley could be molded into the perfect servant.

These changes had all taken place while he was still in France blissfully unaware that Darcy was missing in action. By the time he awoke in the tiny Sussex hospital Georgie had left Pemberley unable to endure the presence of her aunt and incapable of rational thought. During her visits to Sussex she had kept the truth from him fearing the news would set back his recovery. Even Bingley hadn't the heart to tell him of the changes that had taken place at Pemberley.

Richard groaned just thinking of those two disdainful vipers living under the same roof. Darcy would lose his mind! Strike that! He already had lost his mind. Despite the seriousness of the circumstances Richard was beginning to see the humorous aspects of the situation or at least was trying. He topped his drink off then walked to the window and stared down at the wet glistening road. Elation was at last settling in. His beloved cousin was alive and safe and that was enough for him. All would be well. Darcy would put things to right.

Now they could get back to the business of life. He'd already decided to get out of the army. With a damaged shoulder he would never see action again but would be confined to an office and reams of paperwork. The thought of such a life was not for him. It wasn't the life he had planned so he would have to adapt. If Darcy still wanted to partner with him and buy up old estates it might be just the thing for him. Keep him out in the fresh air, get him healthy again and perhaps even give him time to ring up Miss Elizabeth Bennet and renew their friendship.

He smiled at the pleasure the thought of that beautiful young lady still had the power to evoke. Not only was that lady beautiful but intelligent with a keen sense of humor as well. But most of all he had admired her for her bravery. Lying on his back for endless weeks as his body began to mend he had ample time to examine her as she went about her duties. It didn't take a genius to see that nursing was not for her. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her as she laid such gentle hands on her patients steeling herself against the pain she was about to inflict. Watching the sweat build on her forehead and her hands begin to shake as she changed their bandages had been terrible to see. Every day he expected her to flee as so many of the young nurses had but she had shown her mettle and his admiration for her had grown. He knew she had to be exhausted after a twelve hour shift and should have been in bed but invariably she would return late in the evening to visit briefly with her patients making sure they were comfortable and able to sleep.

That was the best part of his day. Her last visit was always to his bedside when she would favor him with a teasing smile, "and have you made any new conquests today, Captain Fitzwilliam?"

"My heart belongs only to you, Miss Bennet." he would reply.

"Thank you, Richard, and I promise to keep it safe until you recover your health and good sense."

Oh, she was a sweetheart. He knew that it was common enough for a patient to fall in love with his nurse but Elizabeth was such a dear, sweet girl he could hardily be faulted to imagine that he might be in love. But then came the news of Darcy missing in action and thoughts of courtship faded quickly to be replaced by duty to family. He had to find his cousin and bring him home to Pemberley. But Darcy had been found in Cambridge of all places, and that had to be his only concern for the moment. Once Darcy was back at Pemberley he could think of the future and then he would call Elizabeth. By the time he was well into his third scotch he could see the pair of them married and happily settled on his estate in Derbyshire.

During the hour and a half drive up to Cambridge his emotions had vacillated between fear and hope. Unable to sleep he's been drinking for most of the night only finding oblivion in the early morning hours. Now with a hangover and lack of sleep he drove carefully deliberating prolonging his arrival at Cambridge still fearful that he had entered a parallel world where desires became realities.

As he drove, his thoughts turned to Anne DeBurgh, the hapless step-daughter of their aunt Catherine. It had been a happy coincidence that Anne had been visiting Georgie at the Darcy townhouse when he had returned from France to deliver his news that there was little hope that Darcy would ever be found. It had saved him the distress of having to repeat the message to Anne.

Anne had never known the mother who had died shortly after her birth. Then her unfortunate father fell into the hands of the duplicitous Catherine Fitzwilliam who had married Louis DeBurgh for money and title and who, by common consensus, had been the death of him when Anne was just seven years old. A poor start in life for such a sweet young girl. Fortunately the Darcys had come to her rescue and took her in to raise her along with their own children. Georgiana who had always been terrified of her aunt Catherine welcomed a new sister happy to assist in saving her from the clutches of her evil step-mother. Darcy on the other hand, didn't know what to do with the new-comer who had the unnerving habit of following the future master of Pemberley about the grounds of the estate. It didn't help that Richard took great delight in teasing him about his conquest.

From a shy forlorn little girl she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman and it had been as difficult to break his unhappy news to Anne as it had been to Georgie. The family knew full well that Anne's childhood crush on Darcy had developed into love though Darcy was perfectly unaware of the effect he had on her. He simply viewed her as an adopted sister. News that Darcy was alive would once more put her life on hold as she dreamed of the day when he would come to realize how well suited they were.

His Aunt Catherine was living in the last century; Anne was love-sick over a man who preferred his horses and hounds to her. And then there were the Postlewaite twins, Jane and Charlotte who were identical only in looks. Jane was moon-struck over Charles Bingley and convinced that he was just what a young man should be; sensible, good-humored, lively and the handsomest man she had ever seen. Charlotte was of the opinion that her sister was brain-dead if she could not see that Charles Bingley only had eyes for Anne DeBurgh and had no scruples in abusing her stupidity. To this, Jane remained steadfast that Charles would one day realize that she was the only woman for him. Darcy losing his memory was the last straw. As he approached the outskirts of Cambridge he thought not for the first time that there was perhaps a mild strain of insanity in their family.

He parked in a small lot a block from his old lodgings and was immediately hailed by Bingley who rushed towards him, "am I glad to see you!" Bingley cried.

Richard's knees almost buckled, "don't tell me he's gone again?"

"No, no" Bingley assured him. "He's still here. But he's not the same Darcy I knew. He hasn't asked one question about Pemberley or Georgie or anything else. I told him you were on your way here and he just nodded and didn't say a word. I don't know what to make of him."

"Relax, Charles. Put yourself in his place. How would you feel if you had lost your past?"

"Are you asking how I'd react if I could forget Caroline?"

"I would not be that impertinent, Charles," Richard replied with a knowing smile, "but there's going to be a period of adjustment he'll have to make. We'll just have to be patient. He'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He has no option. Too many people rely on him. He has to."

Wonderful memories washed over him as he climbed the worn stairs leading to his old rooms. Oh to be young and a little bit foolhardy again; 'when boyhood slid gayly by And the impatient years that trod on it taught me new lessons in the lore of life'.

Darcy was standing at the window gazing down at the old town when Richard opened the door to his old rooms and saw his cousin for the first time in a year. He expelled his breath in an inaudible sigh. Fear that it was all an impossible dream and hope that their prayers had been answered and Darcy was truly alive, and here he was, standing tall and apparently healthy. "Fitz", he said softly.

Darcy turned from the window, "Richard. Good to see you."

Richard stared at him in shock. "Good to see me? Is that all you can say? I haven't seen you in a year."

"Forgive me, Richard, but for me it's only been a few weeks. Bingley told me you were badly injured." He reached his hand out to his favorite cousin, "Are you fully recovered?" Richard ignored the offered hand and embraced Darcy, "never mind me. We all thought you were dead."

"So Bingley informed me several times."

The stress of the past year made Richard react with quick anger, "Darcy, I don't think you understand what a shock it is for Bingley and for me as well. And it would behoove you to be a bit more sensitive to our feelings if for no other reason then to practice how you'll respond to Georgie when she learns that you've risen from the dead."

"You haven't told her?"

"Yesterday I saw her and gave her no hope that you would be found. When Bingley rang me to say that you were snoring in your old bed I wasn't sure I wasn't dreaming. I decided to see you before breaking the news. So no, I haven't told her!"

Darcy turned away and took a seat at the table and waved his cousin to the opposite seat, "don't be angry, Richard. You're right, of course, and I don't mean to sound so cavalier. I'm just having some difficulties in comprehending it all. You and Bingley know I've been gone for a year but I don't. I've examined my body and found a few wounds on my back plus there's a slight ridge at the base of my skull but I find it hard to believe that such minors scars could cause such a complete memory loss."

Richard was immediately remorseful, "what is the last thing you remember?"

"Northern France. We were headed to Arras. And...and it was raining heavily and the roads had turned into mud and our artillery was bogged down. After that things get hazy. I don't remember being anywhere near a body of water but I have a sense of drowning. Lights. Sounds. Then nothing. Next thing I remember is waking in Cambridge."

"What were you carrying?"

"I had a key on me and three typed short stories entitled "Country Life". I read those stories this morning. There's no doubt in my mind that I wrote them. They speak of rural life. Most of the anecdotes are amusing but they also address the lack of education for the poor and what should be done about it. I could have written them before I left for France. So a part of me retained a memory of who I was. I can only assume I've been living in the country. Unfortunately, no names either of people or places are mentioned. Not a clue as to where they were written. It could have been anywhere in England. But how did I get there from France?

"In the last few months of the war we were exchanging prisoners. It's possible that you were captured or picked up by the Germans and taken to one of their field hospitals. In all likelihood you were in bad shape but if you could walk, you were probably part of the exchange program. But you would have been sent to a hospital here in England. That's the part I don't understand. Out hospitals put aside a wing for veterans with mental problems. You either ran away or some jackass released you."

"And then what? Where would I have gone? I doubt I had any cash on me. Yet I ended up in the country. The key proves that I had a home, the stories prove I had access to a typewriter and time to write them. What's just as puzzling is why I would be carrying them with me. Was I hoping to have them published? If so, doesn't that mean that I was perfectly willing to settle into the life I was making for myself? It's a terrifying thought that I had forgotten my own identity. I've always been in command of myself. I knew who I was. Now I'm not so sure. I feel uneasy as though something is missing and it frightens me."

Richard regarded his cousin with curiosity, "Darcy, I should think you'd be more interested in what you've found rather than what you've lost. Surely whatever happened in the past year can't compare with the life you led before you left for France."

Darcy hesitated, "yes, of course. I need to return to Pemberley. I've always been at peace there. I can only hope that I'll eventually remember what I've lost."

Once again he used the word 'lost' describing the past year. Richard felt a moment of uneasiness but ignored it. "Well...uh...about Pemberley."

Darcy shot him a look. "There are some things I haven't forgotten. When you adopt that tone I fear the worst. What have you done?"

"It's not what I've done, Fitz, it's what our aunt Catherine has done. I'm afraid you're in for a few surprises. When we got word that you were missing, Aunt Catherine went to Pemberley to take care of Georgiana."

"Aunt Catherine? But you're Georgie's guardian. How did this come about?"

Richard regarded Darcy with interest. The question was asked in a quiet tone. He had expected Darcy to raise the roof and start shouting but he was only exhibiting mild curiosity. "Well it's true that I'm her guardian but I too was in France and the family thought it best if she had a female family member with her at Pemberley."

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense."

"Darcy, I must say you surprise me. You do remember Aunt Catherine, don't you?"

For the first time in a year Richard finally saw that smile he had missed so. "There are apparently some things it's impossible to forget. She's been the bane of my existence for years. Does she still consume a pint of gin every day?"

"She's up to a quart. She says it calms her."

Darcy's smile broadened, "I should think that a quart of gin a day would stupefy her."

"That too," Richard responded with a wry grin. "But it doesn't stop her from bemoaning the loss of Rosing's Park. It's been sixty years since the family lost Rosings but that doesn't stop her. She used to bring up the subject at dinner but now it's more apt to come up by lunch and she's added tears to her tale of woe. And she dragged along her gentleman caller."

"Her what?"

"That's what she calls him. I suspect she can't remember his name."

Before Darcy had a chance to reply, Bingley, carrying several bags of take-out, opened the door and peeked in, "is it safe to come in?"

Richard answered, "so far he's taken my news very well. Now it's your turn."

Richard observed his cousin closely while Bingley nervously described the further changes that had been taking place during his absence. Darcy's eyes were fastened on Bingley but he wasn't reacting to the news that Caroline Bingley was now the new housekeeper at Pemberley. All he wanted to know was what had happened to Mrs. Reynolds.

"I'll answer that," Richard said. "Mrs. Reynolds gave notice a week after our aunt arrived. I'll leave it to you to guess why. I tried to give her the funds you had set aside for her retirement when you left for France but she refused to take it. She insisted that you were still alive and would be found."

"Dear Mrs. Reynolds. She served our family very well."

"I must say, Darcy, but you're taking all this news with great aplomb. The old Darcy would have hit the ceiling and no one could blame you. Surely you're not going to stand for it."

Darcy shrugged, "tell me about aunt Catherine's gentleman caller."

"He's more of a pipsqueak than a man. He's a penniless ne'er-do-well from Kent and he's her lapdog and gofer. His name is William Collins. Personally I think she met him through an escort service."

Darcy threw his head back and laughed hardily to the shock of Richard and Bingley who eyed each other nervously. "I've been gone for a year," he managed at last, "and my home has been turned into a Roman Circus."

Richard eyed his cousin with dismay, "there really isn't anything funny about this situation, Darcy. And if you were in your right mind, you'd see that."

"If I was in my right mind you two would have to duck." Once more he dissolved into a hardy laugh growing even more amused at the expressions on the faces of his two favorite friends. "Oh for heaven's sake stop looking so worried. Do you really think I can't handle this? Pemberley is my home. I might not remember the last year but the previous twenty four years are firmly fixed in my mind. Besides, you could not have foreseen this. There was nothing you could have done about aunt Catherine. She is after all Georgie's aunt. As for Caroline, who could have imagined that she'd become a housekeeper and end up at Pemberley? I can't wait to hear how that was accomplished though I assume aunt Catherine had a hand in it."

For the next few hours the three old friends ate and sipped wine trying and succeeding mostly in coming to terms with the situation and how they were going to deal with it. Paramount in Darcy's mind was breaking the news to his sister. He couldn't simply show up at his townhouse. She had to be forewarned and that would be Richard's job which meant that Darcy would have to go to Richard's flat and await his sister. Besides his town housekeeper the only servant he could trust was his valet who had served him for more than ten years. He would be able to get some clothes for Darcy without anyone else in the house being wiser. They were the only servants he could trust to be discreet. It was imperative that he get out of London before the news spread which meant that he had to stay away from the townhouse. He wanted no reporters snooping around taking photographs of him. Slipping away from London unnoticed and arriving at Pemberley unheralded would have the added benefit of taking his uninvited guests by surprise.

The evening was spent sipping brandy and relaxing. Richard and Bingley had finally accepted that Darcy was now a part of the living, that the terrible year was over and had reached a happy conclusion. What he had been doing for the past year no longer concerned them for they were both certain that he would eventually remember everything and then all would be well. Their only concern...if it was a concern...was the way Darcy frequently seemed to lose track of the conversation. In those moments his friends grew uneasy as he tended to turn away and stare into space with a faraway look in his eyes. He had a curious habit of holding the key and rubbing it lightly.

Bingley was the one who dared to question him, "what is it Darcy? Are you remembering?"

It took several moments before Darcy responded, "no, I don't think so. It's just that I have a feeling that I'm missing something."

Once more a feeling of disquiet washed over Richard. He'd known his cousin all his life. He knew all his moods. He began to suspect that it wasn't only the past year he was missing but something more. Could it be a woman? Had some scheming woman taken advantage of his fragile state? If so, Richard dreaded the possibilities. At least he wasn't wearing a ring so there had been no marriage. And hopefully no child.

Darcy drew his attention from his wild imaginings, "Richard, you've turned positively white. What on earth are you thinking?"

Richard managed a laugh, "trust me, Cousin, you don't want to know".


	6. INTERIM

Catherine De Bourgh was having a good year...sort of. Not that her nephew dying in France was good, but it had the happy benefit of allowing her to leave her smallish home in Town and settle on an estate that was more in keeping with her heritage. She had been born of a wealthy and well respected family and by rights should have taken her place as a leader of London society. Instead, her inferiors regarded her with disdain when they should have pitied her for all the misfortunes that had befallen her. If her great great aunt's cousin eight or nine times removed had not exercised such poor management, she would now be in possession of her own estate in Kent. Instead, Rosing's Park sat abandoned and forlorn. It was an utter disgrace that a property that had once belonged to the family had been left to suffer such ignoble dereliction when all it needed was an owner and patroness to resurrect it to its former glory. For years she had been pleading with her stingy nephew to purchase the property so she could take her rightful place but he would not be moved. Unfeeling man! But that was all in the past and she now felt a generosity towards her deceased nephew and was inclined to forgive him especially now that she was safely ensconced in the grandeur of one of the finest estates in Derbyshire.

Unfortunately, expectations that all her dreams would come to pass had not yet come to fruition. Possibly she should not have raised the issue of purchasing the Kent estate so shortly after her arrival at Pemberley but surely her niece had over-reacted. To be accused of such cold-hearted greed when Darcy's fate was still unknown was an exaggeration. Her niece was proving to be recalcitrant in the extreme...appallingly so. Georgianna had actually raised her voice to her dear aunt and had the temerity to storm from the house screaming epithets on her way out. But her ambition would not be thwarted by a girl of such a tender age and there was no doubt in her mind that her stubborn niece would soon see the error of her ways, come to her senses, and buy her beloved aunt Rosing's Park.

Georgiana simply wasn't thinking too clearly. She was too emotional by half. A year was much too long to mourn the death of a brother. She herself had mourned only two days after her first husband's death. Of course that had to do with his will which left all his money to an animal hospital. Deceitful man! But still, the obstinacy of Georgiana was beginning to get on her nerves. Ungrateful child! And now she insisted on staying in Town to be near to another odious cousin in case she got any news about Darcy. Adding to her frustration was her step-daughter Anne who had inherited all her father's wealth and who was proving to be just as useless. Instead of using her influence to aid her dear mother she had turned her attention to Georgiana to comfort her in their mutual sorrow. It was not to be borne! Why a woman of her great lineage should have been blessed with such a family was beyond her. No one knew what she suffered.

She drained her glass and held it out for a refill as she turned her thoughts to her other nephew, Richard. He had been avoiding her under the pretext that he was in France searching for Darcy. He'd gone so far as to change his number to an unlisted one so she could no longer call him. Hateful man! For that matter, all men were hateful especially those who had money when she never had enough. The only man she could trust was William Collins who seemed to understand her pain. How fortuitous their meeting had been. She had been in the depths of despair when he had come upon her at Rosing's Park the year before. She had been visiting the estate for years but it was the first time she had met the little parson. He had stood quietly, his eyes downcast until her tears had subsided. Gently, he handed her the flask which had slipped from her lap, then held out his hand to help her to her feet. She took it with a brief nod of thanks. She made for her car but he would not hear of it. He insisted that she accompany him back to the parsonage for some sandwiches and several cups of coffee. How very kind of him for she had to admit she felt a bit unsteady due to the summer heat, she assured him.

She took an absent sip of her drink and discovered that her glass was still empty. She glanced around the room and realized that it too was empty. "Willie!" she bellowed.

"I'm coming, M'lady," was the the unhurried reply as William Collins leisurely entered the room, "Nature called". He took her glass and poured her an ample amount of watered down gin and handed it to her before taking his seat opposite her.

She eyed him with a somewhat unfocused look of aversion, "gentlemen do not speak of such private matters in the company of a lady. You would not speak in such a manner if I owned Rosing's Park. When I think of how I should be mistress of my own estate I want to weep". Which she did immediately, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

While she was so concentrated on her various woes William Collins allowed his usual stoicism to soften and regarded his companion with a mixture of amusement and pity. Here we go again, he thought with kind resignation. Not for the first time he wondered what the hell was a great great aunt eight or nine times removed? He doubted even she knew. His mind had often zigzagged through an imagined family tree trying to figure out where to place the removed cousins but his brain invariably boggled at such a task. The woman was positively demented though completely harmless to a degree. She whined constantly about her lot in life but after more than a year spent in her company and suffering through her rambling monologues he had concluded that she and she alone had brought most of her imagined sufferings upon herself. Twice widowed and twice cut out of her husband's wills surely spoke volumes on how disagreeable she could be.

He continued to regard her as she nodded off. She had been brought up in a world of wealth and had squandered her youth on men and other vices while he himself had been left on a parsonage doorstep and had no cousins removed or otherwise...that he knew of. Talk about unkind fate. He had been raised by a fire-breathing preacher who's limited vocabulary included 'hell' and 'damnation', who never let him forget the circumstances of his birth. Daily he was reminded of his low station in life and how much he owed his benefactor. He'd been tormented during his entire childhood as the lovechild of a woman who would spend eternity in hell for her sin of fornication. What would happen to the man who had shared in this sin was never spoken of and he had dared not ask. He had learned a serious lesson at the age of six. He had asked his guardian what a little bastard was? The only answer he received was a sharp blow to the head, a fall down the stairs and a smashed knee that never healed properly leaving him with an awkward gait and constant pain. He never again repeated words he heard in the village.

There were other valuable lessons he had learned at an early age. If he was never seen without his bible there was less chance of getting his ears boxed. He also learned to memorize the apocryphal passages from the Bible which found favor with his tormentor. He was also allowed to spend extra time in the study of ancient history which he found more magical than the fairy tales most of the village children found so enchanting. His stock eventually rose with the visit from the bishop who was delighted with the piety of the young foundling and his interest in history and gifted him with a Latin primer. As the first gift he had ever received it seemed like a miracle. He could now learn the language of the Romans who had first landed in Kent...perhaps had even trod the very paths he himself trod daily.

In such a manner he managed to survive the first seventeen years of his life. He had learned never to show emotion which was not difficult for he felt nothing, neither joy nor sorrow. He never accepted the misery of his life but simply learned to live with it. When he was pressed into service to the church he agreed with no reluctance. Though it seemed amusing that an atheist would be invited to learn how to teach his hapless flock on how to avoid hell and damnation, he accepted his future gladly for it would afford him an excellent education and an escape from the Hunsford Parsonage.

Naturally this largess did not come without cost for the generosity of the church was limited when it came to the poorest of their flock, but he had no difficulty in adjusting to the rigid rules of a seminary after life with Cantfield Collins. Long hours in the kitchen and weekends mopping the floors could in no way discourage him from taking full advantage of the opportunity given him. Mopping floors and peeling potatoes gave him ample opportunity to memorize every verba irregularia as well as the verba defectiva while he earned his keep. In the end he was amply rewarded for his industry by graduating at the top of class and assurances that he would receive only the highest placement. He thanked his superior for his assurances but knew in his heart that he didn't have the requirements needed to fit into a wealthy parish. A slight frame, an unprepossessing countenance and an air of solemnity was more likely to fit into a small village. However, it didn't matter for he had no intention of serving the church.

He returned to Hunsford to a prodigal's meal of cold meat and potatoes served up by the same whey-faced old housekeeper whom, if the whispers were true, was his own mother. The thought of those two empty shells coupling in unrestrained manic desire never failed to bring on a feeling of sadness at the human condition; that he could be the by- product of this congress was enough to make a grown man weep. Fortunately for his own peace of mind, he'd stopped weeping by the age of six.

During the course of their meal Cantfield Collins dictated how the future would unfold. He would continue to write his own sermons and say mass while the newly ordained minister would see to the poor and adjure them not to complain of their lot. William Collins listened absently, nodded occasionally and wondered how many applications he should send out to the private schools in England. He was an educated man, an ordained minister and also had a degree in Latin. He was quite sure he could find a job and escape from Hunsford.

Over the indifferent bread pudding Cantfield Collins collapsed and was dead before he slipped from his chair and hit the floor with a dull thud. In stunned disbelief he stood up and stared down at the body of the old cleric for a long moment before reaching down and removing the chain from around his neck. The chain carried a key to the old man's private room and had long piqued his interest as to what could be so important it needed to be hidden even from the servants who were only allowed in to clean under strict supervision.

In the still of the night after the servants returned to their own houses and Cantfield Collins was removed by the coroner, he finally got the answer to the puzzle which had long evaded him. In the walk-in closet were two large trunks stuffed with pound notes. His reaction to this treasure was one of disgust and amusement; disgust that this man of cloth had been so hypocritical that he had stolen pennies and shillings from the poor, and amusement thinking of him now burning in hell...if hell existed anywhere else but on earth. He spent the rest of the night sipping an excellent brandy from the old cleric's private stock while counting the ill-gotten gains. By the time he had counted the money stuffed in one of the trunks he knew he was free at last and could make good his escape.

There would be no applications sent out. Rather, he would study every travel brochure he could get his hands on. A trip to Rome would be first on his agenda. By the time he fell unconscious onto his bed he reckoned that he was now a wealthy man and would never again be subject to another man's will. If there was indeed a heaven he had found it in Cantfield Collins dark closet for his future now stretched before him like the golden path to paradise.

The following morning he was roused from sleep by the housekeeper-cum-mother who reminded him that it was Sunday and the sinners of Hunsford would be expecting a few words on the demise of their beloved pastor and to hear a sermon on evil. As he scrambled to dress, his mind still clouded by the excess of the previous evening, he struggled to put together a sermon that included hell, damnation, theft and hypocrisy. In the end, he stumbled up to the pulpit, eyed his flock with red-rimed eyes and babbled a few words which probably didn't make much sense, and dismissed his wide-eyed flock who to his sensitive ears sounded like a gaggle of geese. As he staggered back to his bed he fully expected that once the bishop got wind of his deplorable conduct he would descend on Hunsford and hold a ceremonial defrocking for his outrageous behavior.

Alas, it was not to be. The geese were greatly pleased with the absence of any mention of brimstone as well as the brevity of his sermon. This was cause for celebration at the local pub and after consuming several pints they determined that William Collins...born on the other side of the blanket... would make a perfect leader of their small church. The wealthiest farmer in the neighborhood was chosen to call the Bishop and inform him of the sad circumstances of Cantfield Collin's death and praising the young foundling who would fill his shoes nicely. When the Bishop called him later that night to notify him of this good news William Collins rolled his eyes at the absurdity of life, poured himself another large brandy, and spent the rest of the night considering his options.

"What on earth are you smiling at? You never smile."

His head snapped up to see Lady Catherine regarding him with interest. "Was I smiling, M'lady? Forgive me. I have a bad habit of escaping into the past occasionally."

"I suppose you were in the Roman senate rubbing shoulders with Cicero."

"Am I so transparent?"

She snorted, "I've seen brick walls more transparent than you." She held out her glass, "pour me, Willie."

"You've had enough, M'lady. It would not do if I had to carry you up to your chambers."

"There'd be no one here to see it if you did. They've abandoned me. In the end, everyone always leaves me."

"Now, now. I did warn you not to bring up the subject of Rosings Park until you had settled in. You acted like a bull in a china shop not taking into consideration that Miss Georgiana was grieving. She obviously loves her brother very much."

"Oh, what do you know of loving?" With his help she managed to gain her feet, "We both live in the past where there is no time for love...only dead dreams."

"That may be true, M'lady, but as a minister for the past fifteen years I've witnessed grief in all its forms. Its a powerful emotion. I suggest that you not speak of Rosings Park the next time you see Miss Georgiana."

"Oh, have it your way," she sighed.

"Good girl. As your reward I'll send up a cup of chocolate and add a few drops of brandy."

Above stairs in the west wing Caroline Bingley stood at the window staring out into the darkness, sipping her third scotch and contemplating her future. The money was good she couldn't deny, and living on such a beautiful estate had answered most of her dreams but what she really wanted had apparently slipped though her fingers. Fitzwilliam Darcy had not been found dead or alive and after all this time she could only assume his body was rotting away in some foreign grave. Stupid, stupid man to have given up his life when so many men of the lower class were better suited to fight England's wars for they could not be missed, whereas a man of great wealth would be sorely missed. Men of high class certainly did not belong on a battlefield getting muddy and rubbing shoulders with their inferiors. Naturally she had masked her distaste with a brilliant smile to see Darcy dressed in a lieutenant's uniform. He could have just as easily bought his way into a colonel's insignia. Modesty did not become him. It was not at all in keeping with the proud and aloof man she had lusted after for most of her adult life. She could only assume that his odious cousin had a hand in it.

Richard Fitzwilliam had been the bane of her life for too many years to count. She loathed the man. He had a way of looking at her with ill-concealed amusement that drove her to distraction. Indeed, there were moments of fancy when she imagined that he could read her mind. She smiled at the thought. If he could read her mind he would never again regard her with that insolent grin. How he dared to think himself above her when he was only the second son enraged her. He'd had the temerity to actually laugh at her, warning her that she was reaching too far. But in the end she had bested him by insinuating herself into the family. True, she was only the Pemberley household manager but she now had control of every aspect of the Pemberley mansion. All she had to do is wait for Darcy to return and she'd be able to show him how indispensable she could be; a perfect wife and companion. But all her dreams had come to naught. There had been no word from Darcy for too long. She sensed that resignation had finally settled on the inhabitants of Pemberley; that hope had died.

The last few months had been exciting and exhilarating as she waited for Darcy's return. She had spent her evenings acquainting herself with the hundred plus rooms of the ancient estate imagining herself as it's mistress, knowing that this was where she belonged. Prowling the corridors at night imagining the countless women who had lived out their lives in this beautiful house sometimes brought her to tears of longing to return to those days when ladies of her station were respected by men and not treated so cavalierly. Viewing the portraits in the long gallery she often wondered what their ghosts would think of the women of today with their short skirts and cropped hair. It was quite astonishing that at least on this one point that she and Lady Catherine were in complete agreement.

She sighed heavily as she poured another stiff drink. She supposed she had better start making plans. It was one thing to abandon the lights of London for the wilderness of Derbyshire when she'd had hopes of capturing the heart of Fitzwilliam Darcy but it was quite another thing entirely to live alone with the likes of the demented old drunk and her gentleman friend. Lady Catherine with her fondness for the bottle was easily manipulated however William Collins was another kettle of fish and made her uneasy. She did not like the way he regarded her with that vacuous stare. Whether he was deliberately masking his thoughts or he was truly an imbecile she had yet to determine, not that it mattered. Empty-headed or not, he was a nobody and she had never had any difficulty with dealing with nobodies. But still, he made her uncomfortable. No, it was time to forsake her dreams and look for employment elsewhere. During her sojourn at Pemberley she had done well; making a lot of money as well as accumulating a unique stock of the finest wines and liquors from the Pemberley cellar which, she supposed, she had better start transporting to her flat in London before Richard came snooping around. It would be just like him to make a scene and accuse her of theft.

William Collins ended the evening as he always did, standing at the window of his room staring out at the darkness of Pemberley wondering how on earth he had come to be a friend and companion of a deluded old woman. Even after fifteen years he was still at a loss at how his life had taken a turn after Cantfield Collins' demise. He'd begun transporting the money to a London bank two or three hundred pounds with each visit to Town, returning the following day with books and warm clothes for the poorest children of Hunsford. It seemed the least he could do with his sudden wealth. After a few such visits, he discovered to his surprise that rummaging through the various thrift shops was more exciting than depositing the money which would bring him freedom. Eventually he began to invite some children to the parsonage and while they sipped chocolate and nibbled on biscuits introduced them to the classics. He'd started with Dickens assuming that the plight of other poor children would excite their imaginations and encourage them to find that thirst to read for he was convinced that illiteracy was the true curse of poverty.

He never forgot his plan to desert the parsonage but somehow months then years passed so quickly while his bank account grew. His sermons continued to be brief but concentrated on the goodness of man. He was invited to dinners and never paid for a drink down at the pub. Seeing himself as a cold and humorless man he found it difficult to comprehend why he was treated so kindly but somehow he had become an integral part of Hunsford society. By the time he reached his mid-thirties escape seemed to be a distant dream of childhood. He would die at the Hunsford parsonage slipping off his chair with a dull thud.

Then one day he decided to bring his lunch over to Rosing's Park and wile away an hour pretending that a stone bench was his island in the sun. Once more his life took a turn. Lady Catherine De Bourgh had proved to be an interesting soul caught in the wrong century. After assisting her back to his home and sobering her up, she begged to return his kindness and invited him to visit her in Town. He had no intention of furthering their acquaintance but two months later and on a whim he did just that. That first visit proved to be a revelation for she had shown herself to be intelligent, astute and willing to laugh at herself...when she was sober. Together they attended plays and concerts and took long walks in the park and at his insistence she cut back on her consumption of gin at least when he was in attendance.

Now at Pemberley she had reverted to her old ways of starting off the morning with a drink. He had an excellent assistant back at the parsonage but he felt it was time to return to Hunsford and once more take up his duties. He had to get on with the life that had chosen him and there was nothing here for him in Darbyshire.

A somber mood had descended on Longbourn. The two servant girls were no longer humming their way through their chores, the cook kept dabbing her eyes with her apron and Mrs. Hill no longer smiled at nothing. Mr. Bennet avoided mentioning Smith's name and Mrs. Bennet by turns looked bewildered and annoyed. Elizabeth had shed her last tears on the night when Smith didn't come home and had adopted a stoic attitude which fooled no one.

On the night before she returned to London she went to the cottage for one last time. She had removed all traces of his occupation. His remaining clothes had been sent back to the good will, and his papers had been put in a box and placed in the attic without reading. The bedding had been washed so no scent of him remained. She had erased his existence from the room and now all she had to do was erase the memory of him from her mind and heart.

When her mother opened the door carrying a bottle of brandy and two glasses Elizabeth was resigned. She had been expecting a mother- daughter talk for the past week.

Mrs. Bennet poured the brandy and glanced around the room, "the man that never was," she said, handing her daughter a glass then sitting down in the seat opposite Elizabeth. "Is that how you really see Smith?"

"I'm doing my best not to see him in any way, Mother."

"Keeping a stiff upper lip, are you? Not a bit interested in where he might be at this very moment?"

"It would be rather pointless to speculate on his whereabouts. He told me that he had to get on with his life, that he couldn't remain here indefinitely. I assume he felt the time had come so he left."

"As simple as that? Without a word to any of us? Is that the kind of man you knew? Foolish, foolish girl! I'm absolutely furious with your father and to a lesser extent, with you. I should have been told of his condition. As the mistress of this household, I had a right to know. Where did the two of you get off by keeping such a secret? Did you think I'd have a fit of hysterics? Possibly swoon? Before I had you and Lydia I used to go on your father's rounds. There's little that I haven't seen or heard. I'm not saying I could have stopped him from leaving but I might have been able to get some information as to where he was planning to go."

"Oh, Mother, to what end? If he made up his mind to leave then he surely would not appreciate being found. It would be too humiliating for both of us."

Mrs. Bennet looked pointedly at the bed before turning her eyes back to her daughter. You're not telling everything, daughter, though I can guess. Lizzie, he didn't leave you. He planned to come back that night. I'd stake my life on it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He may have lost his memory but I can't believe that the essence of the man was altered. He wasn't a liar. When he told me that he'd see me that night he believed it."

Elizabeth sipped her drink, regarding her mother sadly, "so where does that leave us? If he did plan to return to Longbourn, what happened? Did someone recognize him? Did the sights and sounds of London seem familiar? I think for one reason or another, he remembered who he was. Father warned me that if he ever remembered, he might forget us. And we must live with the reality. There's a very good possibility that we will never see him again."

"So that's the end of it?"

"No. Tomorrow I'm driving to Town to begin my new life. If I ever decide to open my own business I want to be prepared. So I'm planning to take a few business classes. I'm also going to spend a small fortune on new clothes. I might even get my hair bobbed. How do you think I'd look as a redhead?"

Mrs. Bennet regarded her with amusement, "and bathe in Mysterious Lady? If you ever run into him again he'll never recognize you. Is that what you want?"

"If I ever run into him again he will probably not want to know me. Can you imagine how he would react if a stranger walked up to him. "Hi, I'm the girl you slept with when you were out of your mind. Good to see you again."

Mrs. Bennet choked on her drink, "perhaps a little more subtlety might be called for."

"It's over, Mother," Elizabeth replied with finality. I won't lie to you. I suspect I will probably search every shop, every concert hall and every street looking for a tall man with dark curly hair but after a year or two I will forget him and it will be as if he had never existed."

"Then all we can do is sit here and get drunk."

Elizabeth reached for the bottle and poured each of them a liberal amount, "sounds like a plan. But you won't change my mind, Mother. No detectives!"

An hour later after Elizabeth had seen her mother safely to her room she stepped into her father's study and eyed him in amusement. "Mother is a little tipsy but is resting comfortably."

Mr. Bennet chuckled softly, "it was supposed to work the other way around. You were supposed to get tipsy so she could convince you to let her hire detectives. She was very fond of Smith and feels somewhat responsible."

"I hope I allayed her fears on that score. If anyone should feel guilty it's me. I should have left him at Tynebridge."

"Nonsense! Would you have him languishing at that asylum for the last four months rather than here at Longbourn? You are no more to blame than I am. We both knew it was bound to happen. It's just unfortunate that we weren't witness to whatever happened."

In her heart she knew this was true enough but thoughts of her last encounter with Smith continued to intrude. She could not dismiss the belief that their intimacy had shamed him and rather than face the family that had been so good to him, he had escaped much like he had escaped the horrors of war. If so, then what did that make him? Had she given her heart to a coward? Her low spirits sank even further. She had to forget him. And if she saw him again she would have to pass him by without a second look.


	7. WHILING TIME AWAY

WHILING TIME AWAY

On a beautiful English morning in June Elizabeth left the comfort and shelter of her parent's house and headed back to London. She'd languished long enough and had to get back to the business of living. The road was clear, the sky bright and she drove carefully, willing her mind not to slip back to the last time she'd been on that road or to the man who had sat so quietly by her side. She succeeded with her determination until she reached the turn-off to the Tynebridge Asylum when she unwittingly slowed up, her eyes searching for a glimpse of a memory. It even crossed her mind to leave the main road and drive up to the asylum in the vain hope of obtaining some knowledge of him. Her pride stopped her and angry at her weakness she continued down the road deliberately averting her eyes from the small clearing where she had first seen Smith.

She'd discovered that idleness could fuel her grief and led to a terrible exhaustion so she planned to fill her hours with a few refresher courses at a small college in town. Once set on a plan, Elizabeth didn't deviate from it. She stopped briefly at her flat to unpack and freshen up before heading out again. Her shorthand had grown rusty with two years of disuse and she needed an advanced study of bookkeeping and accounting. Whether she would ever have a chance to use theses skills didn't much matter to her. They only served to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied as well as getting her out of the flat several days a week. She added a course in American literature as well as a short course in library science and returned to her flat well pleased that she had accomplished so much on her first day back to Town. She celebrated with a packet of fish and chips washed down with a warm beer then crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

During the following week she purchased the necessary books, took solitary walks in the park and idled the long evenings in perusals of Lydia's fashion gazettes of which there were plenty. It didn't take her long to realize that she didn't meet the criterion of a stylish young lady. There had been radical changes in fashion once the war was over and she could now see how old fashioned she must appear to Lydia. However, some of the new styles were too outré. In a darkened room most of the models could pass for young boys. Shapeless shifts hanging loosely on a body that apparently had no hips or breasts was not her idea of femininity. Her previous opinion of fashion designers was reinforced. She suspected that they were laughing up their sleeves. She could live with the calf-length frocks, silk stockings and the T-bar heels but she was damned if she would bind her breasts to look like a boy nor would she crop her hair so she could wear a cloche. Flat-chested and wearing a hat that resembled a helmet was a sacrifice to common sense that she was unwilling to suffer for the sake of being a fashionable young woman.

When she finally got up the nerve to do some shopping she was surprised to see how many new shops there were since her last spree in Town. It was a relief not to have to wander through the crowds of a large department store searching for a pair of gloves or a piece of costume jewelry. Specialty stores were in abundance making purchases less of a hassle for the buyer. Nevertheless, after two hours of aimless wandering up and down the streets looking for something that appealed to her, she felt her resolve wilting and despair raising it's ugly head. By the time she arrived back at her flat she was mentally exhausted and she tossed her boxes and bags in a heap and poured herself a large scotch. Moments later Lydia arrived. She took one look at Elizabeth and collapsed onto a chair laughing merrily, "poor Lizzie. You look a wreck.! Didn't anyone ever tell you that shopping for goodies was supposed to be fun?"

"Apparently not."

"What did you buy?"

"I have no idea." Her response brought forth another squeal of delight from Lydia and Elizabeth eyed her sister warily as she watched Lydia open the boxes and rummage through the bags. "Well? How did I do?"

"You're going to make some man happy with all this silk and lace. But you can't be seen on the street wearing only scanties, as beautiful as they are." When Elizabeth didn't respond, Lydia looked up in surprise before realizing what she had said, "oh Lord, Lizzie, I'm so sorry."

"Forget it, Lydia. There's no need to treat me with kid gloves. I'm getting on with my life."

"Still no word from him?"

"Lydia, he's gone and that's the end of it. I know you're being kind and sympathetic, but I truly don't want to be reminded of how foolish I was in letting myself..." Her voice broke and angrily she waved a hand dismissively, "I've been wallowing in self-pity for weeks and it's time to put an end to it. I'm bored with it all. My emotions are still raw but if I could survive the horrors at Sussex I can survive a little heartache. So let this be an end to it, Lydia. Smith is now only a distant memory and I am determined that he will soon be a forgotten memory. Some day I'll find happiness with another man and if I still think of Smith it will only be with the nostalgia of youth and nothing more". To her relief, Lydia seemed to buy into her lie. She didn't want her sister to tell their mother that she was still pining after Smith knowing how it would worry her. And too, she rather hoped that if she said the words aloud, she would eventually come to believe them.

Several days later Lydia took her sister to some of her favorite shops and finally Elizabeth began to fill her wardrobe with some classic outfits that were both comfortable and feminine. Her self-esteem rose a couple of notches and she was grateful for Lydia's assistance and said so. She took most of her out-of date dresses down to the local thrift shop and refrained from looking through the men's rack for any clothing that might look familiar, assuring herself that she was now on the mend. The weeks following were unremarkable as she settled into her various studies. And soon "the frost was on the punkin and the fodder in the shock"...autumn had arrived and she had managed to survive one day at a time.

On November eleventh London once more went wild to celebrate the year of peace. Naturally Lydia had plans for the evening and innocently unaware that the date had more significance to Elizabeth than the armistice, pleaded with Elizabeth to join her and meet her pals, Jane and Charlotte, for a night of fun. Elizabeth steadfastly refused the invitation citing a test in the morning. Lydia shook her head in despair but didn't press her further.

Alone as the evening darkened she allowed her tears to fall for the first time in weeks admitting that all her pretenses had been in vain. Her heart was broken and beyond everything she had ever known, she knew that she would never recover from her loss. No matter how hard she tried thoughts of that night when she had given her body and soul to him had not diminished but had intensified. The mere act of rising in the morning had become an excruciating ordeal seeing the endless hours ahead knowing that on that day and all the days following she had no chance of seeing his sweet smile or hear her name spoken in his gentle voice. Her mind and spirit had been crippled and for the first time in her life she felt truly helpless with no way to turn. Lydia would try to laugh her out of her anguish and she dared not speak with her parents for fear they would try to find Smith. She felt trapped in a prison of despair and could see no way out. She was even now more adamant that nothing should be done to locate the man who had disappeared from their lives. It would be too humiliating if he was found when he didn't want to be found. This possibility had preyed on her mind from the very beginning. To have him turn to her with anger and disgust was too awful to contemplate.

When the phone rang her immediate reaction was to reach for the receiver, damning herself for the silent prayer she offered, but reason awoke and stayed her hand. Wisdom dictated that it was her mother checking on her. She, of all people, would know what the day meant to Elizabeth. She let the phone ring, unwilling to answer it's summons, knowing she was incapable of sounding normal at the moment and her mother would surely pick up on it. When the phone stopped ringing she breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that her mother would assume she was out on the town enjoying herself. She hated the deception but she also didn't want to worry her parents. In the silence that followed, words of Emily Dickinson sprang to mind. " "Hope" is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all..."

A moment later the phone once more began it's incessant ringing. Annoyed at this continued intrusion she took several deep breaths, considered ripping the cord from the wall but opted instead, to lift the receiver.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet. Have you missed me?"

Her heart missed a beat as she stood silent before sanity returned and she matched the voice with a face. "How could I not, Captain Fitzwilliam?

Richard laughed softly, "so, Miss Bennet, how long has it been?"

"I have no idea. I wasn't counting the days." His shout of glee brought a smile to Elizabeth's face and she continued in the same vein. "The last time I saw you I believe you were courting Nurse Butt. How's that going, by the way?"

"She left me for a man who's old enough to be my grandfather."

"Then they should be well matched." His laughter was so infectious at her sally that she couldn't help but laugh with him.

"So how have you been, Miss Lizzie?"

"Fine. And you? How's your shoulder?"

"In working order but I doubt I'll ever hoist a rifle again."

"Maybe you won't have to. The papers say that it was the war to end all wars."

This time Richard's laughter was rueful, "I wouldn't count on that, Miss Bennet. Where man exists there will always be war."

"Have you changed your mind about leaving the army?"

"Still vacillating. I'm going up to Newcastle next week and I might talk it over with my general, but the thought of spending my days stuck in an office with a pile of papers at my elbow is not what I see for myself. And you? Have you given up nursing?"

"My uniform and cap now reside in a local thrift shop."

They continued to talk in a desultory fashion before Richard got to the point of his call and invited her to dinner the following week. Her instinct was to refuse but for the life of her she couldn't think of an excuse that wouldn't appear ungracious or call for an explanation and Richard didn't deserve that. She had become very fond of him during the three months she had known him in Sussex so she agreed.

When Richard rang off she sat in deep thought. It had suddenly occurred to her that she had never been on a date before. In Hertfordshire interaction with boys

had been informal at best. They'd meet at dances, chat together at dinners but there had never been anything approaching courtship. Meryton was still a small village and hadn't grown much in the last century. Young men had a tendency to leave home early to seek work in the larger cities. She herself had left for Town to obtain a nursing degree when she was just eighteen. That was followed by two years isolated at a hospital in Sussex. There'd never been time for love and in retrospect, she supposed she had missed one of the integral joys of youth. On the other hand, still fresh in her mind were the stories Lydia told her of the dating game involving Roman hands and Russian fingers. It sounded much like warfare. The possibilities of engaging in such maneuvers with Richard Fitzwilliam gave her pause just imagining such a preposterous encounter. The more she thought of it the more she grew amused until she laughed out loud. The sound startled her and she was glad that she hadn't ripped the cord from the wall.

Richard called a few days later to set the date and time and they agreed to meet at the bar of the Ritz Hotel. Lydia was much too excited to know that her sister had a date with a handsome young officer and Elizabeth thought that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to introducing any young man to Lydia. She was still smiling at this reflection when she laid eyes on him for the first time in nearly a year. At the sight of him she caught her breath as memory of another young man passed through her mind, before dismissing it as a figment of her imagination...or wishful thinking.

For the evening she had chosen a garment of rich apricot silk. It's dropped waist and modest décolleté suited her; it was stylish and feminine and she was rewarded with an appreciative pursing of his lips in a silent whistle. "You take my breath away," he whispered, taking her hand, "but whatever happened to little Nurse Lizzie?"

"Oh, do be quiet, Richard" she replied primly, aware of the blush suffusing her cheeks. "And as for Nurse Lizzie, she grew up."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was it painful?"

She looked away unwilling to meet his eyes. "Growing up is always painful. And you? How has the last year treated you? You look very healthy and quite spiffy in your uniform."

"Fill your eyes as long as you can. I've made up my mind. I'm demobbing at the end of the year. I'll never go in the field again and an office with reams of paperwork doesn't appeal to me. A cousin of mine has offered me a job and I may take him up on it."

When they finished their drinks they walked around the corner to a small Italian bistro and settled into its warmth both happy to share an excellent meal with good company. As the evening progressed he began to tell her of his family starting with his search for his cousin. His account was terse and brief...apparently he had found him in a French hospital on the mend from his wounds and was able to bring him home a month later. It was about the changes at his cousin's ancestral home where he really warmed to the subject and regaled her with descriptions of the inhabitants at Pemberley.

She had to smother her laughter with her napkin almost convulsed at his silliness. "Richard! Stop this nonsense. I don't believe a word of this."

"What part don't you believe? The gin-soaked aunt or her zombie of a boyfriend. Perhaps it's the octopus of a housekeeper?"

"None of it. Surely your cousin wouldn't stand for it."

For the first time that evening, Richard's mood grew somber. "Darcy is not the same man who left for France. Two years ago he would have thrown them all out of the house. Now he seems disengaged from everyone around him. He stares into space when our aunt slams into the furniture while stumbling around the drawing room. He finds nothing strange about the zombie, who hovers in the background seldom saying a word but always watchful. He gives me the creeps but Darcy seems to enjoy his presence. I've actually seen the two of them engaged in a quiet conversation on several occasions. What they could possibly have in common is beyond me. But I never inquire. It's about the only time I see my cousin acting with any kind of normalcy and I'm all too grateful to see it. As for the octopus, he simply looks resigned when Caroline uses one or two of her eight arms to smother him with kindness. Now she's beginning to intrude in his business broadly hinting that she would make the perfect secretary."

Once more Elizabeth had to stifle some unladylike giggles with his reference to the octopus. "And will she succeed?"

Richard smiled grimly. "Over my dead body!" After a moment, he continued. "Don't get the wrong idea about my cousin, Lizzie. Darcy likes to look at the big picture. Little details bore him. His last secretary was with him for five years but he found new employment after Darcy went missing. He needs to get a new secretary but keeps putting it off. It would mean that he had to go to Town and interview applicants. This is what he calls the little details. He's up to his neck in paperwork which he loathes, his house is full of crazy people but he seems incapable of rectifying the situation and I'm at a loss of what to do for him. I love him dearly. He really is a brilliant man. I respect him more than I do my own father, but the last couple of years were...difficult. Things...well, certain things happen in a war. He was always so sure of himself, so strong willed yet at times he seems so lost. He simply hasn't come to terms with what happened to him during the war. I suppose there are a million of veterans feeling just as lost as he does."

"Yes," Elizabeth responded sadly. "I'm sure there are. But time heals all...or at least it's supposed to. Your cousin might surprise you one day and become the man he was. He might even accuse you of nagging him and throw you out of the house."

Richard smiled, "That would suit me very well. But enough about my cousin. Tell me what you've been doing since you left me heartbroken in Sussex."

Richard had been so open and artless describing his family that for a moment Elizabeth was tempted to relate her tale of meeting with a young soldier on her way back to Hertfordshire. Richard was totally disconnected from her family; he was also an army officer from a high-born family and probably had access to information she could never be privy to. She wondered what his reaction would be if she asked him to hunt for a man without letting his prey know that he was being hunted. While she hesitated she felt his eyes appraising her as he waited for a response. With an imperceptible shake of her head she dismissed the thought before it was fully formed and launched into a dismissive catalog of the classes she was taking with the thought of eventually opening a book store.

The end of the evening came all too soon. As the cab pulled up to the curb Richard took both her hands into his, then gently leaned towards her and bestowed a gentle kiss on her cheek, "I've missed you, Miss Lizzie. Promise to stay by the phone and await my next call. It shouldn't be more than three weeks to tie up loose ends in Newcastle. I'm sure you'll adore me in my civvies."

"Cheeky man!"

With another brief kiss on the cheek he helped her into the cab and waved goodbye. She settled back, smiling broadly at Richard's silliness. He really was adorable. He was also not to be taken seriously... but she was pleased that the friendship that had begun in Sussex was not as ephemeral as she feared but had proved to be enduring. She had no plans to wait by the phone but still would be pleased when she heard from him again.

During the following weeks Elizabeth focused her attention on the task of earning her certificates. It crossed her mind that she was becoming a Jacqueline of all trades, mistress of none which to her mind pointed to a symptom of instability for which she had yet found relief. She thought perhaps that she should have taken a class concerned with mental health. However, in mid-December she managed to take the tests and passed them easily.

Her second date with Richard was as pleasurable as the first... laughter marking their deepening friendship. Even his surprising suggestion that she should go to work for his cousin was cause for laughter. "And usurp the octopus? Thank you but octopuses are not my favorite people."

"Shouldn't that be octopi?"

"Hippopotamuses and octopuses" she responded absently.

"I stand corrected."

"Tell me, Richard, what does a Fitzwilliam Darcy look like? I've heard of him of course, but I don't think I've ever seen a photograph of him."

An impish grin appeared on his freckled face. "Middle-aged with a slight paunch. Slightly bowlegged and not your cup of tea. And don't change the subject."

She blinked in surprise. "And he is the subject of the housekeeper's lust?"

"She has to take him if she wants Pemberley and the money that goes with it. And you haven't answered my question."

She regarded him with amusement, "I was trying to divert you. I didn't answer because your question was preposterous."

"Why?

"Because a few refresher courses in typing and shorthand does not make a secretary. If your cousin is as distracted as you say he is, my skills would be the final straw. Furthermore" she added with a laugh, "he'd probably kill you for even suggesting me."

"Nonsense! You don't give yourself enough credit. I watched you night after night down in Sussex rapping out one report after another and filing them away. I saw you typing letters for the patients every night. You were indefatigable and meticulous and never forgot for a minute that you were there chiefly to tend to your patients. Do you have any idea of what you meant to all of us? You're clever, intelligent and quick."

"Oh, Richard, please! I was a nurse. That's what nurses do. Don't romanticize it. I was no angel of mercy. I only did what I was trained to do. Being a private secretary to a man like Mr. Darcy is simply out of the question."

Richard leaned back in his chair regarding her with a curiosity he didn't try to hide. "Any woman with half a brain would jump at the chance to work for Fitzwilliam Darcy. He pays his employees very well. He lives on an estate more beautiful than any paradise you'll ever see in this lifetime but you won't even consider it. Why? Where's your spirit? What can you lose? I'd put in a good word for you. All he could do is reject you."

She swallowed hard. That was all she needed. Another rejection. "Richard, you must see that it's out of the question," she said, regarding him with genuine affection. "And now I believe I'd like to try the chocolate mousse."

Richard shrugged, "alright, but you haven't heard the end of this. And I think I'd like the mousse too. But so I don't embarrass myself, what is the plural of mousse? Mousses or moussei?

"Oh just ask for chocolate pudding and be done with it."

Elizabeth and Lydia returned to Hertfordshire for the Christmas holidays and for the first time in years Elizabeth slept in the bed of her childhood in the main house. As usual, her mother had filled the house with all the smells redolent of that special time of the year. Pine and aromatic spices filled the air and there was a constant stream of visitors who were welcomed with genuine pleasure to enjoy tea and cakes or in the case of the gentlemen, a brandy in the library. No evening passed without attending festive parties in and around Meryton and true to it's name, a merry time was had by all.

They observed the true meaning of Christmas at a midnight service where they offered up prayers to the men and women who had fallen during the war as well as the millions who had died during the outbreak of influenza which had destroyed the lives of so many families. Not to be forgotten were those left behind still grieving their loss. It was a solemn occasion and a reminder of how fortunate their small family had been to survive the calamity of war and pestilence. Upon her return home, for the first time since arriving Elizabeth stood at her window looking down at the cottage offering up a prayer that no harm had come to Smithy, that he was safe and in the arms of his own beloved family. She wished him happiness and contentment. She was sure that her heart had begun to heal.

On Boxing Day their parents hosted a large dinner signaling the end of the holidays and the following day Elizabeth and Lydia returned to the city exhausted from the festivities but pleased with themselves and the world at large. They'd had a wonderful time visiting with their family and friends and were both sure that the coming year would bring them joy.

On New Year's Eve Elizabeth finally met the Postlewaite twins, Jane and Charlotte, at the annual party held at the Ritz Hotel. Lydia introduced her to the young women before scurrying off to check any eligible bachelors who might prove promising. Left alone with two strangers, Elizabeth sighed and looked for the nearest exit.

The one who called herself Charlotte laughed softly. "Relax, Miss Bennet. You're among friends. With the scarcity of young men left in the kingdom she can be excused for her occasional lapse in good manners."

"We understand," Jane offered with a sweet smile, "that you know our cousin Richard?"

"Yes. I met him in Sussex and was his nurse for a short period of time."

"We are indebted to you for your kindness."

Charlotte added, "Indeed we are, Miss Bennet. And may we dispense with formalities? My friends call me Charlie."

"Call me Lizzie."

"Good," Charlotte replied. "Richard thinks highly of you. Your name came up during the holidays when the family gathered at Pemberley."

He said, Jane offered, "that you saved his life."

"Good grief, I did no such thing! Forgive me, but your cousin tends to exaggeration." The twin's response matched their temperaments; Charlotte threw her head back and roared with delight while Jane's reaction was a gentle nod of sympathy. Elizabeth laughed despite herself, "I trust that's all he said about me."

"My dear Lizzie," Charlotte said, "that was just the beginning. He compared you to the Lady with the Lamp. I could almost see you carrying your little lamp in your hand as you made your solitary rounds."

Elizabeth sat transfixed with disbelief, "he compared me to Florence Nightingale?"

"And" Charlotte continued, amused by Elizabeth's dismay, "Did you know that you are a long lost cousin of Melvil Dewey and naturally are an expert in arranging a library?"

"He didn't! He wouldn't dare!"

"Richard will dare anything to amuse himself. I must say, Lizzie, that we were all quite impressed with your accomplishments. Especially the housekeeper who choked on her plum pudding. But more remarkable was my cousin Darcy's reaction to this recital. He actually smirked. And Darcy never smirks. It was the best Christmas dinner I've enjoyed in years."

"Exaggeration runs in our family," remarked Jane mildly.

"I can see that," Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair thoroughly enjoying herself, no doubt aided by her second glass of champagne. "I have heard the housekeeper referred to as an octopus. It that true?"

"Absolutely not," Charlotte answered. "An octopus would never dream of biting off the head of her lover after mating."

Elizabeth choked on her drink and Jane handed her a napkin. "You mustn't listen to my sister," she said. "Caroline isn't so bad."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, "She's worse. And if you weren't so moon-struck over her brother, you would see her for the woman she is." When Jane sighed, Charlotte regarded her sister with pity and threw her a bone, "Charles is a darling, and if you insist on being in love with him I can't argue your choice. Just remember that Caroline is his sister which would make her the sister-in-law from hell." She turned her attention back to Elizabeth. "Lizzie, I know my cousin very well. He made you out to be such a paragon for a reason and I think I know why. Darcy needs a secretary and Richard has chosen you. Am I close to the truth?"

"Before I answer that, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth smiled to soften her words, "are you always this blunt."

"Always. It saves time."

"Alright then. Richard suggested I apply for the job and I laughed in his face and ordered the chocolate mousse."

When the laughter died down Charlotte regarded Elizabeth much like Richard had when she dismissed his suggestion as ludicrous. "Lizzie," she said, "have you ever seen Pemberley?"

"I've not had that pleasure."

"There is no place on earth more beautiful or for which nature has done more. It has never been marred by awkward taste which is what makes it so unique. The house itself stands on rising ground, nestled by woods and tall trees. It's fronted by a stream that swells into a large lake before wandering further off into the woods. As many times as I've stayed at Pemberley I still catch my breath with its natural beauty. As for the current master of Pemberley, he's the kindest and most generous man I've ever known. For years he's been unhappy with the state of education in this country. The poorest children in the realm never have access to the high halls of learning so he's building a boarding school on the estate which will be free to any child who has a desire for knowledge. He also has plans to buy up abandoned estates throughout England and offer them the same benefit."

"It's like heaven on earth," said Jane. "I'm sure that's why Caroline likes it so."

Charlotte spared a look of disbelief at her sister before pressing a cigarette into the ebony holder and lighting it. "There's a very relaxed attitude at Pemberley. Despite what he may think of Caroline, he treats her with respect and as the manager of the household she is welcomed at the table. The same was accorded to his secretary. Anyone who aids him in his affairs is treated like a valued partner. Which is why...if I know my cousin... he resists going to an employment agency. He wants someone efficient as well as affable. Your nursing skills would be a godsend if one of the school children got the sniffles and his library could use some tender loving care. With your background I think you were made for each other."

"It sounds wonderful. It's unfortunate that I'm not qualified for the job." As far as she was concerned, the discussion was over.


	8. A NEW YEAR

The party bringing in the new year was deemed a complete success by all who attended. Elizabeth had enjoyed herself immensely. Lydia had introduced her to several young men of her acquaintance as had Jane and Charlotte. Their friends had proved to be both witty and charming and Elizabeth had happily danced with most of them. Champagne had flowed freely and many a glass was lifted to celebrate the final year of a decade that had seen so much sorrow. On a personal level if there was a down side to the evening it was the fact that most of her new acquaintances were gainfully employed and she was not. She understood that their inquiries were nothing short of simple politeness and nothing more, nevertheless it had made her increasingly uncomfortable. So much of the workforce had been lost during the war and there was a growing sentiment for the young to take up the reins and do their part in restoring the Kingdom to it's former glory.

Taking a few courses at the local college had only been her way to keep busy while she healed, nothing more. She had never had any intention of seeking employment, at least not unless it could give her pleasure in accomplishment and simple secretarial work could never do that. Due to the handsome bequests from their maternal grandmother, neither she nor Lydia had to work. They certainly weren't rich but rather quite comfortable if they didn't touch their capital. Indeed, both sisters endeavored to add to their bank accounts each year. Of all the various lessons their parents had instilled in them, paramount was the need for independence. It was after all, a man's world and too many women married for security and too often lived to regret it. She knew how fortunate she was to be a lady of relative leisure. Still, she felt embarrassed to be a young woman starting a brand new year with nothing to do but loll around her flat all day. Even the Postlewaite twins had eschewed a life of indolence in favor of work and both seemed quite content to be so engaged despite their wealth.

Meeting the girls had been the highlight of the evening. She'd never met twins who were so identical in looks yet so disparate in dress and thought. Jane was a gentle, modest soul, and dressed accordingly. There was nothing subdued in Charlotte's dress. She had favored a blazing crimson to greet the new year. Where Jane was possessed of a tranquil nature, Charlotte painted in broad strokes waving her cigarette about as punctuation for some of the most outrageous statements Elizabeth had ever heard. At one point in the evening she had announced to all and sundry that she hated men and would never marry. No man could meet her standards. Elizabeth was laughing so hard that she nearly missed the silent communication that passed so quickly between the two girls. Jane had looked at her sister with a soft smile. Charlotte's response was to regard her twin with narrowed eyes. Jane's smile broadened with a slight shrug of her shoulders before turning away. Elizabeth wondered what might have happened if she had taken a page out of Charlotte's book and had asked her point blank who she loved for she suspected that both sisters were suffering from unrequited love. Well, she could understand that all too well.

Unable to sleep and still exhilarated by the lively evening, Elizabeth continued peering out into the darkness of the fog shrouded night wondering dimly if she had reached a turning point in her life and if she had, where did she go from here? Travel? It was a possibility. Reports were that Europe had cleaned up most of the mess left behind in war and in some cities it was like it had never happened. She supposed she could always visit Paris for a few weeks though it might be difficult to take walks along the Seine passing by the countless lovers who were drawn to the romance of the river. There was the Bride of the Sea, of course, but friends had warned that visiting Venice without a lover would be too depressing and that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

"I can't sleep!"

Startled from her musings Elizabeth turned to see Lydia standing in the doorway. "Neither can I. Pour us a small brandy." Lydia disappeared and Elizabeth joined her sister moments later in the parlor. Not much for conversation at two o'clock in the morning Elizabeth sat quietly regarding her surroundings. The flat they owned had been a gift from their parents and she adored it though she had begun to notice that the furnishings were beginning to look worn even in the dimly lit room. "Perhaps we should think of buying some new furniture, Lydia. What do you think?"

"I had a long talk with Charlie this evening."

Never surprised at Lydia's frequent non sequiturs, Elizabeth regarded her sister with amusement, "and does she sell furniture?"

"She likes you."

Elizabeth played along. "I like her too, dear."

"She thinks you're being foolish."

"Does she? Well, I think I'm foolish too."

"Lizzie, be serious!"

"If I must." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I don't understand why I'm suddenly in such great demand. First Richard, and tonight it was Charlotte. Now I suspect you're the next person who will attempt to convince me to apply for a job for which I am simply not qualified. My shorthand is abominable. The average speed is a hundred and fifty words per minute. My hand cramps up when I reach sixty words a minute. I can write longhand almost as fast. As for my typing, I can type forty words a minute if the test doesn't involve using my pinkies. Do you have any idea how many words include an A, Q or Z? As for my numbers, forget it. I got my certificate because I managed thirty five words a minute and my instructor felt sorry for me and probably hoped I'd never come back. My fingers are strong enough to flip through the pages of a book but not strong enough to use a machine that weighs a ton. I was so slow at times that some of the keys got stuck and fell asleep. I had to wake them up with my dainty little hands. Do you have any idea how hard it is to remove ink from your skin? Face it, Lydia. I'm not a secretary."

"You never give yourself credit," Lydia protested.

"When there is no credit due, no I don't."

"I swear, Lizzie, I don't understand you. It's a golden opportunity."

"I haven't been offered the job so I see no opportunity, golden or otherwise. And I won't be."

"How do you know if you don't try? What's happened to you? You used to be so confident."

"Failure had something to do with it, I suppose."

"If you're referring to your aborted career as a nurse, it wasn't a failure. At the time you felt it was what you wanted. Once you realized that you didn't want to spend the rest of your life doing something you hated, you quit. Do you realize how brave you were in tossing away three years of your life because you knew it was the right thing to do? Most women would have stayed on living out their lives in misery."

"I quit, alright. And I'm still miserable."

"All the more reason you should leap at this opportunity. If your friend Richard and my friend Charlotte both think you'd be perfect they'll put in a good word for you. Besides, Charlie says that there's a black widow spider making goo-goo eyes at her cousin and she plans to squash her to a pulp if he succumbs to her fatal charms. He sounds like he needs someone to save him from a fate worst than death."

"I've saved enough men to last a lifetime. As for that poor housekeeper, Richard described her as an octopus. Both creatures have eight legs but I can't decide whether she swims or crawls."

Lydia choked on her drink, gasping for breath. As usual, the chair couldn't contain her and she slipped to the floor rolling with laughter. Elizabeth laughed with her and freshened their drinks. "One for the road," she said, "then we'd better get some sleep."

"Alright. But Lizzie, don't you want to see Pemberley?"

"The only way I'll ever see Pemberley is if I pay six pence. Perhaps we can visit the Lake country this summer and stop there for a tour."

"But don't you want to see Mr. Darcy?"

"Not particularly. A bow-legged, middle-aged man with a paunch doesn't really excite me despite his millions."

"Good grief! Is that what he looks like? No wonder he doesn't like to be photographed." Completely deflated, Lydia stood up taking her drink with her and drifted towards her room, "Multimillionaires should always be young and handsome" she grumbled. "There ought to be a law."

Left alone, Elizabeth thought that Lydia had a point. Rich men should all be tall, dark and handsome. And a shock of dark curly hair wouldn't hurt either. She allowed a wistful smile, thinking of Smithy, wondering what he was doing at that very moment. Probably fast asleep snoring the excesses of the night away. Or perhaps his arms were around a beautiful woman taking and giving that special, leisurely pleasure that only true lovers can enjoy. Did he love? Did she? Did they tease each other? Did they take long walks laughing in the rain, feeling more alive in each other's arms, sure that no one had ever loved like they did? Did she go all soft inside when he called her name? Elizabeth switched off the light and dried-eyed headed for her bed pleased that she could now think of him without dissolving into tears.

It was late when she woke. As she struggled into her robe still half-asleep, she glanced out the window and was pleased to see that there would be no sunshine that day. A gray mist and low hanging fog suited her mood. Sometime during the restless night she had begun to question her obstinacy in refusing to even consider applying for a job. What was she going to do with the rest of her life? She couldn't continue lying around the flat flipping through fashion gazettes nor was she interested in taking any more courses that would be of little use. Broadening her mind was well and good but there were enough books on the market that she could study at her own leisure, and standing behind a perfume counter waiting for a rich man to take her away to his castle seemed like a terrible waste of time. She was unwilling to buy a shop without a trust-worthy partner and Lydia wasn't ready to settle down. Besides, she suspected that Lydia had other plans. So what was she to do? The question had plagued her through the long night as sleep evaded her.

When she gained the kitchen Lydia was pressing the coffee and the scent of warming cinnamon rolls was a balm to her soul. Elizabeth sat down grateful to her sister, as usual. Scatterbrained as she appeared at times, she really was a darling.

Lydia greeted her sister with a bright smile, "Lizzie," she asked, "have you ever dreamed that you were married and had eight squalling brats pulling on your aprons strings?"

Elizabeth sighed, "No, I don't think so. Have you?"

"Heavens no. Whatever would give you that idea?"

"Sorry. My mind drifted."

"I don't think I'd make a good mother."

"When you grow up you might change your mind."

Lydia laughed merrily, "Maybe. So what are your plans for today?"

"I plan to sit and think."

"About Pemberley?"

"No, Lydia, not about Pemberley, but maybe I should find some employment. I haven't got the slightest idea of what's available to a woman."

"Mostly secretaries, shop girls and servants. Which would you prefer? Parlor or scullery maid?"

"Drollery doesn't suit you, sister."

"It made you smile."

And indeed it had. She had to admit that in the last few weeks her spirits had risen and she had begun to feel like her old self. The last eight months had been hard but at least she had been able to save time by skipping the first three stages of grief. That first night as she waited at the bus station for him to return, not for a moment did she deny that he was gone nor had she ever felt anger towards his defection. As for bargaining, who would hear her plea? Whether the heart was as resilient an organ as her father had assured her, or her survival instinct had only lain dormant, she had managed to survive the depression that followed and now had reached the final stage of acceptance. She wished him well and now had only to lock him away in a memory that would soon be forgotten.

This was well and good but it still begged the question of what was she going to do with the rest of her life? Now that the holidays were done she had nothing to do. At least with the courses she'd taken, time had passed quickly and got her out of the house with a purpose. Now the hours dragged by. With all the shopping she had done together with all the gifts she'd received, her closet was full and she couldn't imagine what more she could buy. It was all too depressing. Here she was just twenty three years old and the future looked bleak unless she could get her act together.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Save your money, Lydia. I was just thinking of something Richard said one night. He said that since the war his cousin who always knew what he wanted, had come back a changed man, that at times he seemed to have lost his way. The war changed us all, whether at the front or behind the lines. Families have been disrupted and in some cases destroyed. The whole world suffered for four long years and it's only reasonable that it will take more than a year to recover completely. But I promise you I really am giving it serious thought. I've just got to be patient and think before I leap."

"Well, while you're being patient, I'm running late. I'm lunching with my boss."

"Again? That's twice you've dined with her since we got back from Hertfordshire. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Lydia shrugged, "Will you be here when I get back?"

"Where else would I be?"

"Think of Pemberley, Lizzie. I have a good feeling about it."

"Good bye, Lydia!"

The next few days dragged by with a monotonous sameness. Sitting around in her robe she whiled away the hours by studying various college brochures, smirking through Lydia's newest fashion gazettes and yawning through a couple of romance novels. At the end of the week Richard called and invited her to lunch at the Ritz the following day. She accepted with such enthusiasm that his response was a hardy laugh that was so infectious that she joined him despite the fact that she was blushing furiously. "Cheeky man!" she admonished still laughing. "I'd be just as happy to dine with Jack the Ripper if it would get me out of here for a couple of hours. I'm so sick of take-out I'm thinking of taking some cooking lessons."

"I wish you wouldn't. England has enough bad cooks. Besides, I can't see you wearing an apron."

"How about eight squalling brats tugging at my apron strings?"

"Perish the thought! What possessed you to say such a thing?"

"You haven't met my sister so I'd find it hard to explain. Just forget I mentioned it."

"Consider it done. And don't scare me like that."

"Oh dear, apparently you can't you see me as Mother Earth. I'm running out of options, Richard. I'm ill-suited to be a nurse, I can't cook, and selling goods at a department store would drive me crazy. I'm left with only two choices. I can either join a nunnery or bind my breasts and join the Foreign Legion."

"Please not the Foreign Legion. You'd never get away with it."

"If that's a compliment, thank you."

"It was and you're welcome."

Long after Richard rang off she was still smiling. Once more he'd had no difficulty in raising her spirits. She loved his insouciance, and more, she thoroughly enjoyed their mild flirtation knowing no harm was meant by either of them. Their relationship contained all the elements of love except passion which made for a perfect friendship. And as a friend, once more she thought of applying to him for information about a soldier she'd met on the way home so long ago. So much time had elapsed that she surely could speak of Smithy without sounding like a love-lorn heroine in a cheap novel. Then again, perhaps not. If she was still thinking of him it was probably too soon to discuss his disappearance without opening a wound that Richard might pick up on. Richard's sense of the absurd masked an astute mind and the last thing she wanted from him was pity. No, she had to let it go and think no more of Smithy. Annoyed that thoughts of him had once again surfaced with that old longing she wondered just how she had come to this point in life. Five years ago she knew exactly what she wanted and nothing was going to stop her. Now she was floating rudderless in a sea of indecision. She should perhaps adopt one of Charlotte's rules: hate all men and never marry.

When Lydia returned to the flat an hour later she was carrying a large bag of take-out. For a change, she had brought home some Chinese instead of the usual fish and chips.

"What are we celebrating?" Elizabeth asked dryly. Lydia didn't answer directly but busied herself with setting the table. "Lydia, go take your coat off and relax. I'll do that."

"No, no, I'll do it."

"Lydia! For heaven's sake, go take your coat off."

Instead of obeying, she dropped into the chair, "Oh, Lizzie, you're going to hate me," she cried.

"I doubt that. But I can't help if you won't tell me what's happened." When her sister didn't reply Elizabeth regarded her in some confusion until the truth began to dawn. "Oh, I see. You've been made an offer you can't refuse."

Startled, Lydia looked up and was reassured by Elizabeth's smile, "you guessed? I thought you had."

"I'd have to have been rather dense not to notice the times you mentioned the owner wanting to expand her business. Or the many times you've lunched with her in the last few months. I knew something was up and I think it's wonderful. And there's nothing to be sorry about. You haven't hurt my feelings. Owning a bookshop was always my dream, not yours. And to tell you the truth I'd decided that owning my own business at this time of my life was probably not a wise decision. Maybe in a few years, but not now."

The floodgates opened and Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and continued to smile while half-listening to her sister's cries of rapture at becoming a part owner of a perfumery. Elizabeth didn't have to warn her of the hard work ahead of her now that she was no longer just a clerk. From the moment she'd walked into the small shop two years earlier she had proved her mettle by working long hours with never a complaint. Purely by accident, she had found her niche. She loved learning about the exotic ingredients that went into the various scents and with her naturally buoyant spirits imparted her knowledge to her customers making their purchases a pleasure tour. She loved describing the wild flowers of France, white ginger of Asia and especially where musk came from. That last invariably brought a smile to a client and a satisfied customer always came back and sought her. Through her diligence the owner had decided to expand and Lydia was now a junior partner in a thriving business. By the time she wound down they had eaten every scrap of a sumptuous meal and had consumed two bottles of wine.

For the first time she had known Richard he seemed a bit constrained when she met with him the following day but she thought perhaps it was only a reflection of her own mood. As happy as she was for Lydia she couldn't help feeling a tinge of envy that her sister had found her direction so easily and she herself was still swinging in the wind. Richard also picked up on her mood, "What's wrong?" he asked.

She hesitated before admitting the truth but finally decided to be completely honest with him. "My sister who comes off as flighty and slightly scatterbrained has done something quite remarkable. At the age of twenty, she has become a junior partner in a small perfumery here in London. She worked hard with a great deal of determination and has succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I used to shake my head to think of her spending hours behind a counter selling scented water but she's proved me wrong. My ego has raised it's ugly head and it isn't a pretty picture."

Richard laughed hardily at her obvious chagrin. "You're also very proud of her, I can see. I take it you're close?"

Elizabeth nodded, "But it wasn't always that way. She was only fifteen when I went off to save the world. By the time I returned from Sussex she was a grown woman working hard when she didn't have to. Yes, I'm very proud of her. And she has proved to be more astute that I knew. When I gave up nursing I didn't realize how I'd seen it as a failure on my part. She sees it as a reason for celebration pointing out that stubbornly staying at a job that made me so miserable would have been the height of folly."

"She sounds like a very intelligent young woman. I hope it works out for her."

"Knowing Lydia, she won't have it any other way. But enough about my sister. I'd rather talk about a pair of twins I met on New Year's eve."

He favored her with a knowing grin. "Ah! The sweet and sour Postlewaite girls."

"Richard, I'm really very cross with you. How could you paint such a flaming character of me. Angel of mercy? Florence Nightingale? I can't imagine what your cousin must think of me...or you, for that matter." Instead of a quick flippant response he surprised her by hesitating and she sensed the disquiet she'd noticed at the beginning of their lunch. She waited patiently while sampling the excellent lobster pie.

To her surprise, he prolonged her wait by taking not one, but two sips of wine before replying. "As a matter of fact," Richard said quietly, "Darcy was quite impressed. He wants to meet with you."

Of all the responses she'd expected his reply was the last thing she was prepared for. She laid down her fork and stared at him, "He what?"

"Now Lizzie... Nurse Lizzie...er...Miss Bennet, don't be mad. I may have allowed myself a few slight exaggerations but it was all Charlie's fault. She's been on the phone with him. She told him how much she liked you and insisted that he come to town and talk to you. Now you have to understand how Charlie can browbeat people into what she wants. She's always been like that...since we were children...I can tell you stories...but that's another story."

Elizabeth took her own large sip of wine. "Slight exaggeration?" She cocked a brow, "long lost niece of Melvil Dewey?"

"Now I never said such a thing! That must have been Charlie's doing. She's a darling girl but she really has a vivid imagination."

Darling girl? Charlotte Postlewaite? The plot had just thickened. She leaned back in her chair enjoying his discomfiture. "Exaggeration must run in the family."

"It's a disease. Darcy calls it a curse."

Elizabeth reached for her napkin and held it tight against her mouth struggling against the laughter that was threatening to erupt in loud guffaws...a most improper way to laugh in a crowded restaurant.

Meanwhile Richard continued to eye her nervously, "So anyway, he called this morning and told me he was coming down to Town on Wednesday and asked if I could set up an appointment with you to meet with him on Thursday afternoon. I couldn't refuse. He has a way of intimidating his hapless victims. He's absolutely ruthless... but in the sweetest way, you understand.. You have no idea how he can browbeat people when he wants something."

Elizabeth gasped, still struggling to contain her laughter, trying to imagine what a sweet ruthlessness looked like. "I take it" she managed, "that browbeating is another curse of your family?"

Richard stared at her attempting to gauge her mood before he began to relax. "So what do you say Nurse Lizzie? Are you up for it?"

Elizabeth regarded him for a long moment though she had already made her decision. "Tell him that I'll see him at two o'clock sharp on Thursday afternoon."

Thursday morning dawned like every other January in England...cold and wet, and didn't improve as the time for her appointment neared. Her room looked as though a wind storm had blown through. Half her wardrobe lay on her bed and still she couldn't decide what to wear. Why she should care what she wore to an interview for a job she had no prayer of winning, she couldn't imagine. But care she did. With all the exaggerations this Mr. Darcy had heard about her, she wanted to at least reassure him that she was a normal young Englishwoman with no delusions or pretensions. She finally chose a soft gray skirt and topped it with a plum colored cashmere jersey. It would have to do. She added a string of pearls to the outfit and turned from the mirror not completely satisfied but she was running out of time.

With five minutes to spare she stepped out of the cab at the end of a cul-de-sac. She looked up at the slated roof and bay windows of a tall brick structure built in the Victorian style with wide steps leading up to the beautifully paneled door. A narrower set of steps curved down into the bowels of the house where, she surmised, the kitchens and sculleries lay. There was little to distinguish the neighboring homes; each manicured lawn was enclosed by a low wrought iron fence and tiny rows of flowers bordered the house itself. It was all very discreet, masking the wealth that lay hidden from the less fortunate.

She got half-way up the stairs before the door swung open and an elderly butler appeared with a smile of greeting and ushered her into a large foyer. She had rather hoped that she'd have a moment to catch her breath and gird her loins for the coming interview but it was not to be. Everything moved like a well oiled machine as he took her coat and hat, handed them to another servant and begged her to follow him. She obeyed, trailing behind him down a long narrow hall. Her stomach was churning by the time he stopped and quietly opened a door allowing her entrance before closing the door behind her, effectively sealing off her escape route.

She found herself in a smallish room lit only by a curtained window and a dimly lit lamp on a small desk. She stood stock still allowing her eyes to adjust to the faint light wondering if she had just stumbled into a Gothic novel and was about to be ravished by the deranged and bow-legged master of the castle. What had Richard gotten her in to? She sensed rather than saw a movement from the left side of the room and she heard her name spoken softly. For a moment she thought that it was Richard playing a joke on her for the timbre of the voice seemed so familiar. The shadow sharpened as a tall man walked to the window and glanced out at the gray day before he turned and stood at the desk. It wasn't Richard.

"Please take a seat, Miss Bennet."

She didn't faint, but did reach out to the back of the chair to steady herself. "Thank you, Sir," she managed, "but I would prefer to stand,"

"As you wish." He reached down to the desk scattering a few papers before picking up a page which he scanned before raising dark eyes to take in her appearance. He smiled with gentle good humor. "I expected you to appear wearing wings. According to Richard, you were an angel of mercy."

"I expected to meet with a man who was middle aged with a paunch. Bowlegged as well."

Her response appeared to amuse him. "My cousin has a fondness for the absurd."

"He calls it a curse."

"That in itself is an exaggeration, but I didn't realize he had a name for it." He glanced once more at his notes." You're a long lost niece of Melvil Dewey?"

Elizabeth sighed, "I recently took a course in Library Science."

He pursed his lips to suppress a smile in an old familiar way that was so endearing. He was now eying her with open friendliness. "Were you a nurse, Miss Bennet?"

She felt lightheaded. She tightened her grip on the chair forcing herself to breathe evenly. She was determined not to collapse at his feet. It was all too surreal and she had to be dreaming. It was only a question of time before she woke up. "Yes Sir. That much is true."

"And you worked at a hospital in Sussex?"

"Yes Sir."

"And there you met my cousin?"

"Yes Sir."

"And you can type?"

"A little, Sir. That about describes my skill. A typewriting machine and I will never be the best of friends. I"ll never be the world's greatest secretary." She watched him carefully searching his face for a sign of recognition, remembering how she had once teased him, but he simply nodded in understanding.

He glanced down at the clutter on his desk, "And what would you do with this mess?"

"You could burn all the papers in the trash and start fresh. Or you could sort through them and file them away in an orderly fashion."

"I'll consider your first suggestion. Do you think you could teach young children the basic Dewey Decimal System?"

"Yes, of course. A child should become familiar with a library as soon as he learns to read."

"I agree. You understand that the job entails moving to Derbyshire? Do you have any objection to living in the country?"

"I prefer living in the country, Sir. My family has a small estate in Hertfordshire. My father practices medicine there. It's where I was born."

"I realize that you have given up nursing for your own personal reasons, but are you willing to tend to the occasional sore throat and skinned knee that small children are prone to?"

"As long as there are no bayonet wounds, yes."

"How soon can you start?"

"Are you offering me the job?"

"Yes. If you want it."

A good question for which she had no clear answer. At the back of her mind she saw further heartbreak lying in wait for her. "I'll want to stop off in Hertfordshire for a couple of days. Will this time next week be acceptable?"

He nodded. "And do you prefer the morning or afternoon sun?"

For a moment she was puzzled until she realized what he was asking. "I prefer to see the sun rise in the morning."

He smiled, "So do I. My housekeeper will have your rooms prepared on the East side of the house."

A few minutes later she left the room numb with shock. In the space of fifteen minutes the past had re-visited her and she was at a loss to explain how it had come to be or why she had been offered a job when he knew next to nothing about her. Or had he recognized her and pretended not to know her? Impossible! If he didn't want to acknowledge her he wouldn't have asked to meet her. Her head was spinning. She needed a stiff drink sure that one drink wouldn't be enough.


	9. REVIVAL

REVIVAL

Elizabeth escaped Darcy's study and fled down the hall where the butler once more greeted her with a pleasant smile, "I'll call you a cab, Miss Bennet."

She shook her head, "I'll get a cab on High Street."

He was genuinely dismayed, "But Miss Bennet, you'll catch your death. Please allow me to call a cab. It would be foolhardy to walk out in such raw weather."

Privately she had to agree. However, the poor man was unaware that at the moment she was feeling far from sensible. The need to escape the house was too overpowering. She dared not wait around for a further ten minutes in case his master decided to engage her in further repartee. But already it was too late. She heard his footsteps coming down the hall and she brushed past the butler and threw open the door before turning back like an animal at bay. "I'll be fine. Thank you very much. I have everything under control." She shut the door behind her and sped down the steps as if the demons of hell were in hot pursuit. Despite the frigid weather her face was burning. Everything under control? She was in panic mode. It had been nearly intolerable facing him in the dim light of his study remembering how she had submitted to him writhing and moaning like a wanton hussy. She could not face him in the brightness of the foyer. It was all too mortifying! Too humiliating! Too..too..whatever! She was sure he must be standing at the window... could even feel his eyes on her back. She picked up speed desperate to flee the cul-de-sac and get out of the sight of his house, out of his sight.

She couldn't even laugh at her paranoia for there was nothing remotely amusing about the situation. She'd damned near had a heart attack to see him in such close quarters. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, the last thing she expected was to walk into a room to interview for a job and come face to face with the man who had occupied her thoughts for the last eight months. She had tried so hard to forget him and get on with her life and she thought she had succeeded. And now to meet him again...to search his face for a sign of recognition and see nothing but polite interest had been excruciating. Worse still was the touch of curiosity she saw in his eyes no doubt due to Richard's enthusiasm for the two of them to meet. With Richard's devotion to the outlandish there was no telling what he had told Darcy about her. For all she knew he had hinted at a romance between the two of them. She could even imagine that Richard had convinced Darcy to hire her in order to further their love affair. As this thought crossed her mind she let out a groan of anguish. Her flight of fancy had taken wing. She was as bad as Richard. How had it come to this? Why had she let this happen? Could she have prevented it?

Her breath had turned ragged and she stopped and leaned against a tree desperate not to faint or shed tears. It was all very Greek! Both wearing masks and subject to the will of the gods. It even came with it's own chorus. First Richard, then Charlotte, and finally Lydia had all worked on her insisting that a chance to work for Fitzwilliam Darcy was a golden opportunity. And she had taken the bait. Now he expected her to show up at his home and work with him. And he would be sleeping in the East Wing down the hall from her with the Sword of Damocles no doubt dangling above her bed. She was sure the gods were laughing at her predicament when she heard a distant clap of thunder, but it was only signaling the onset of a storm. She hurried her steps still a good three blocks from High Street.

When the cab dropped her off in front of her flat the rain still hadn't begun in earnest but she wasn't yet ready for confinement in the quiet of her flat. On a whim she crossed the street and walked a further half-block. Visiting a very expensive gourmet shop was just the thing to kill time and soothe her feverish brain. Hardly glancing at her choices she filled her basket with a variety of artisanal cheeses and specialty crackers then topped it all with a portions of truffles, foie gras mousse and some smoked salmon. As a special treat for Lydia she purchased a small jar of Beluga caviar. She completed the basket with a couple of gooseberry tarts and a jar of Cornish cream. She magnanimously allowed the owner to pick out the perfect wines to go with her treats with a promise her purchases would be delivered within thirty minutes.

Once home she rang Lydia and told her not to bring home the usual take-out, then took a quick shower in a feeble attempt to wash away the confusion and distress she felt, desperate to erase the memory of the ordeal. Over and over she continued to relive that moment when he had stepped from the darkness into the light and faced her with his gentle smile. She didn't dare weep fearing once she started she would be unable to stop.

Afterwards, snug in her robe, she made a cup of tea to calm herself before sitting down to contemplate exactly what she was going to tell her sister. She'd had no real hope of attaining the position at Pemberley so saw no reason to tell Lydia that she had an appointment with the elusive Mr. Darcy. Knowing how Lydia's mind worked she didn't want her sister to get too excited and start fantasizing. Lydia saw romance in every situation and would no doubt see Elizabeth married to a millionaire and living like a queen within a week In her sister's world failure was not an option. There was also a possibility that she would call Charlotte or Jane and share her thoughts on the subject and the last thing she needed was such silliness to get back to the hapless millionaire. As it turned out it was wise decision on her part. The interview had been intolerable enough but her pride would never have recovered if he thought she was a gold digger as well as a woman of easy virtue.

Now she supposed that whether she took the job or didn't, Lydia would have to be told who Mr. Darcy was...or was it who Smithy was? There was a danger inherent in the situation. Suppose Lydia was invited to join Charlotte and Jane at Pemberley for a weekend? How could she stop her? And if she did take the job what could possibly stop her from a surprise visit? She would certainly have to admonish her not to drop in unexpectedly as she would now be only a lowly employee; an employee who had slept with her boss. Her only hope was that Lydia would be too busy with her new position for at least a few months to think of driving up to Derbyshire.

Once more a groan escaped her. Could she actually be thinking of taking the job? Reason dictated that she should call Darcy back and decline the position. It was a truth universally acknowledged that lovers couldn't keep their eyes off each other. How could she possibly live in the same house with him and manage not to demean herself? For an instant she saw herself sitting at a desk gazing dewy-eyed at her employer while a milky white hand clasped her half-naked breast in a futile attempt to still the beating of her heart. She been reading too many romance novels. If she did go to Pemberley..and still wasn't convinced she should... she would have to be on her guard every minute, never allowing her mask of indifference to slip. It wasn't only Darcy she feared but Richard as well. He had perpetuated a lie that she was now privy to. As much as he enjoyed wearing the prankster's mask behind that mask lay an astute mind. Perhaps she should explain the situation to Richard and let him decide? She dismissed the notion immediately. In her heart she knew there was a good chance that Richard would counsel her to step back..might even suggest another way of meeting him. Or he might tell her that Darcy was already interested in another woman. That was a distinct possibility. A rich and wealthy man of his reputation surely had had a love life before he went to war. It was unreasonable to think he hadn't picked up where he had left off. Her own words haunted her. 'Somewhere out there a beautiful woman is waiting for you. Her name is Emily or Margaret or Patience. It could even be Elizabeth.' How could she insinuate herself into his family? If he ever regained his memory he might not be eager to find her underfoot. She didn't want his pity nor his anger.

When the doorbell rang she jumped at the sudden intrusion. A sure sign her nerves were shot. She tipped the delivery boy handsomely and left the basket on the table for Lydia to unpack. She stood for a long moment staring at the basket of treats wondering what had prompted her to spend so freely. It smacked too near a celebration. Was it possible that she had moved so swiftly from shock and embarrassment to excitement and anticipation? Could she still be so enamored of him that she was willing to risk further heartbreak? She had to think of what she should do. She couldn't imagine what he had gone through for the past eight months knowing he had lost time from his life. Richard had described him as disengaged and lost since returning home. In many ways he must have been suffering not for what he'd lost but from wondering what he had lost. She could not be the instrument for more grief. What had she been thinking to accept the position? She was staring into an abyss.

She needed a drink and decided not to wait until Lydia arrived. After struggling to open a bottle of wine without shredding the cork too much she poured a glass and downed it in two gulps. She stood quietly and waited for the alcohol to do it's job trying desperately not to relive the moment when she realized she had unwittingly found Smithy. Instead of calming her the wine had caused her brain to implode sending her thoughts in seven different directions each one more confused. She was just pouring another glass of wine when the phone rang.

"Congratulations, " Richard cried over the line. "And welcome to our little family. I knew he'd like you."

"You must be joking," she cried. "I'm sure he thought I was a twit!"

Richard laughed hardily, "Nonsense! He thought you rather amusing. Especially the way you left his house in such a hurry. He compared you to a skittish colt.

He assumed you were hurrying off to impart your good news to your lover."

"He what?"

"Joking, my dear, just joking, though he hoped you didn't catch pneumonia."

"Richard, I really would appreciate it if you would refrain from making me the butt of your jokes. As for my hurried departure, when I made the appointment with him I'd forgotten that I had invited some friends over tonight for a small party to celebrate my sister's promotion."

"A party? I love a party! Am I invited?"

"Sorry, it's a hen party. No men allowed."

"Oh, well. Darcy and I will simply have to amuse ourselves another way."

Elizabeth dropped in her chair spilling her drink down the front of her robe. The very idea of Darcy showing up at her flat made her eyes cross. She could just imagine Lydia's reaction and the pandemonium that would ensue. "Richard, I'm really having second thoughts. I'm just not sure I'm qualified for the position. I really don't think I'm secretarial material."

"That's good. He doesn't want a secretary. He wants an assistant. And you're it. He's very pleased with you and said so."

She couldn't help herself, "Really? What did he say?"

"He said he's very pleased with you."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Richard but I simply don't understand why he hired me."

"And I don't understand why you care? Isn't it enough to know that Darcy offered you the job? I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression of him. I admit that he isn't the man who came back from the war...none of us are... but he isn't an idiot. He knows what he wants and won't settle for less. If he says he's pleased with your qualifications then accept it. What's happened to your spirit? The girl I knew in Sussex would never question her own abilities."

"Perhaps I grew up."

"Then grow back down. I miss the old Nurse Lizzie."

"Nurse Lizzie is dead."

"Who killed her, Lizzie?"

She hesitated too long but for the life of her she couldn't come up with a clever line. "Richard, I really have to ring off. I've a million things to do before our guests arrive."

"Of course, Lizzy. And congratulations once more. And remember that there isn't anything you can't do if you set your mind to it. I'll see you at Pemberley."

After Richard rang off Elizabeth set the fire, poured another glass of wine and sat down forcing herself to relax and free her mind with the mesmerizing effect of the blue and orange flames. Richard hadn't exactly accused her of being a craven coward but she suspected that he was probably disappointed in her and it didn't set well with the image she held of herself. What had happened to her self confidence? What had happened to the girl who had gone off to school with no fear of the unknown, anxious to gain her goals and sure she could. She'd known exactly what she wanted and worked hard to achieve it with never a doubt that she could and would succeed. She no longer recognized that young woman. As terrible as the experience in Sussex had been; as rueful she'd become realizing that nursing wasn't for her, she fulfilled her obligations determined not to fail her country or herself. And what of the woman who had taken pity on a stranger who's heart had touched her? She hadn't been able to leave him to fend for himself seeing how unhappy he was. Surely that had shown confidence.

When had she allowed herself to become a pathetic shell of the woman she had once been? Instead of showing the strength that she knew she had she'd allowed her broken heart to break her spirit. Instead of accepting her loss she had wallowed in self-pity waiting for his return so she could live happily ever after.

And yet when the impossible happened she was perfectly willing to run away and hide Instead of taking control of her life she was desperate to find any reason not to reach out for happiness. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself. Who indeed had killed Nurse Lizzie? She thought perhaps she had.

An hour later, Lydia blew in, soaked to the skin. Elizabeth gave her a minute to squeal her delight over the basket, especially the jar of caviar which was one of her favorites. Lydia insisted on tasting the caviar and sighed in ecstasy while Elizabeth made a face. There was no accounting taste. Elizabeth thought that caviar tasted like fishy buckshot. Finally she pushed her out of the kitchen so Lydia could dry off and get comfortable. In the meantime Elizabeth filled a platter with the various treats still trying to determine whether she should take a chance and spoil a pleasant evening or simply come out with it and tell her sister how her day had passed. Beyond the fact that she wanted to confide her news with someone, she couldn't see how she could avoid unnecessary trouble without letting Lydia in on her secret.

Patience was the rule as Lydia chatted happily about her new responsibilities while sampling everything on the platter. Once Lydia was sated and had leaned back to enjoy her second glass of wine Elizabeth took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Lydia, did you ever discuss Smithy with either Charlotte or Jane?"

"Heavens! Why ever would you ask such a question? I would never betray you like that."

"Not intentionally, I know. But sometimes we all can be indiscreet without meaning to."

"Lizzie, I know I let my mouth run away at times but believe me, I have never uttered his name. Why on earth would you bring that up after all this time? Surely you're not still thinking about him?"

"Lydia, today I met with Mr. Darcy." As expected, Lydia's eyes grew wide with excitement and Elizabeth raised her hand to silence her. "Let me finish. He offered me the job and I accepted it." Once more Elizabeth raised her hand, "There's more, Lydia. Let me finish before you get hysterical." She waited calmly while her sister refreshed their glasses and settled back full of anticipation. "Lydia, I also met Smithy. He and Mr. Darcy are one and the same."

Lydia regarded her sister with a wry smile, "It's good to know you can joke about Smithy. I was afraid you'd never get over him."

"One and the same, Lydia. One and the same."

"But..but that can't be, Lizzie. You said that Mr. Darcy was middle aged and bowlegged. It can't be Smithy."

The last thing she expected from her sister was denial. "Lydia, I haven't lost my mind. Richard takes great pleasure in skewing the truth for comical effect.. Trust me, it was Smithy. I was as close to him as I am to you."

"Oh, Lizzie, surely Charlotte or Jane would have mentioned it. They said that he was found in a French hospital."

"It was what they were told. The family values their privacy. They wouldn't have wanted the truth to come out."

"I can't believe this. Maybe he just looked like Smithy. What did he say?

"He asked me if I would mind living in the country. Lydia, he didn't recognize me."

If it hadn't been so serious, Elizabeth might have found amusement watching her sister trying to digest this information. Lydia reached for the jar of caviar, thought better of it, and began to fidget, playing with a bracelet. She finally leveled a look at Elizabeth. "What are you going to do?"

"I haven't made up my mind. At least I don't think I have."

"Well why doesn't that surprise me? But if that's the case, I suggest you crawl under your bed for a month or two until you decide what to do."

Elizabeth stared at her sister in shock, "Lydia! Why on earth would you say such a thing?"

"Don't look at me like that, Lizzie. For the past eight months you've been walking around in a daze. Do you think I haven't seen how you constantly search the crowds looking for his face? Even when we go to a restaurant you can't help looking up every time the door opens. Personally I can't imagine what man could be worth all that suffering, but apparently you can. So what happens next? Out of the blue you stumble over him in the most unlikely place and he offers you a job. Not any job, mind you. He wants you to come to his home and live and work with him. When I met him in Hertfordshire a year ago I could see how much he loved you and I can see how much you still love him. So why the hell are you hesitating?"

"Fear," Elizabeth replied quietly.

'Well get over it and get angry. Fate dealt you a nasty blow and you rolled over and played dead. Now you've been given another chance at happiness. Don't you dare tell me that you don't know what to do! If he could fall in love with you once, he can do it again. And if he doesn't, then you've lost nothing. But don't let this chance pass you by or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"That's twice I've been reprimanded for my attitude. Richard intimated that I'd become a shrinking violet."

"He must be a very good friend."

Elizabeth nodded, "Yes he is. And so are you. So, I suppose they dress for dinner at Pemberley. I think that calls for another shopping spree."

When Darcy entered his study he stopped short seeing his cousin Richard had taken possession of his chair and had planted his feet on the desk. Not only did he look comfortable but he was smiling at the ceiling. Darcy took the chair opposite, "I know that smile, cousin. What mischief are you up to?"

"No mischief. I just got off the phone with Miss Bennet. She invariably makes me laugh. She's certain you think she's a twit."

"Why on earth would she think that?"

"Because you hired her."

"Wouldn't that make me a twit?"

"Let me rephrase that. She thinks she is a twit and wonders why you hired her. I'm curious too. Why did you?"

"It certainly wasn't your exaggerated litany of her skills, as amusing as they were. It was Charlotte's assessment of her. Charlotte isn't easily impressed so I was more inclined to believe what she said about Miss Bennet. She described her as quietly intelligent with a sense of humor. Your only contribution was how she acquitted herself down in Sussex. It was obvious how much you admired her dedication and the empathy she felt for the young men in her charge. I confess she piqued my interest but if I hadn't dreaded the prospect of dealing with an employment agency I probably wouldn't have considered her."

"Alright. That makes sense. So I know why you met with her. But what prompted you to hire her?"

"She seemed to have a sense of humor where you were concerned."

She's very lovely, don't you think?"

"Tolerable."

Richard eyed him with amusement, "high praise. But what do you really think?"

Darcy shrugged, "She has nursing experience and she can teach the rudiments of library science. Hopefully she can write a letter without too many mistakes. I think she'll work out very well"

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say? You assured me that you have no romantic interest in Miss Bennet. I hope you weren't lying to me or yourself. With your history of leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake it might be amusing to see, but following Miss Bennet around Pemberley like a lost puppy would be a novelty that would soon pall."

Richard laughed hardily. "You paint a pretty picture but I assure you we are just good friends."

"Is that how she sees it?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you've lost your charisma."

"Impossible!"

"I don't know, Richard. Caroline Bingley looks like she's sucking on a lemon when she's in your company, Charlotte refers to you as her half-wit cousin, and now Miss Bennet failing to fall under your spell. Either Miss Bennet shows an inordinate amount of good sense or you're not as charming as you thought you were."

"Caroline Bingley was born with an acute case of indigestion and Charlotte has never forgiven me for tossing her in the lake when we were youngsters. As for Miss Bennet, I have a feeling something happened to her after she left Sussex. There's an aura of sadness about her that wasn't there when I first met her."

"The war?"

"Possibly, or a broken heart."

"What man would break her heart? Don't be ridiculous!"

Richard blinked in astonishment and regarded his cousin with interest, "You're right, of course. Who would dump a girl who was only tolerable." Darcy ignored the bait. Instead, Richard watched his hand move absently to his vest pocket in a habit that he had developed since his return from the dead. A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him seeing his cousin so unhappy. "What say we attend the theatre tonight? It will lift our spirits to have a night on the town."

"My spirits are just fine, Richard, but I'll be glad to join you. Ring Bingley. It will be like old times."

A few days later Richard skipped lightly up the steps of Pemberley. whistling a happy tune. He was in an exceptionally good mood. Darcy had stayed behind in town to spend a couple of days perusing the vast store of books at the main library as well as haunt the myriad collection of out of the way bookstalls that had spread throughout London. By happy chance Darcy had mentioned that Miss Bennet preferred to be awakened by the morning sun and ever eager to be of assistance, Richard had volunteered to stop by Pemberley of his way north to Matlock House. It would be his pleasure to inform Caroline of the need to prepare a suite in the East Wing for his new assistant.

The heavy doors of the mansion swung open as he reached the landing and he was greeted with genuine pleasure by the butler who had served the Darcys for more than thirty years. "How the missus, John? In a good mood I hope. I expect one of her excellent dinners tonight."

"I last saw her as she was preparing a fine toadstool broth for the household manager, sir"

"Right. Well I'll pass on the soup tonight. And where is the household manager?"

"I last spied her scurrying along a corridor above stairs, sir."

Richard threw his head back laughing merrily, "For that you deserve a bottle from the cellar. If she's left any."

"Thank you, Mister Richard, but I've been keeping an account of the cellar's contents and she knows it.. It also helped to change the lock."

"Good man."

He took the stairs two at a time but hadn't reached the first floor before Caroline Bingley appeared on the landing above him, arms akimbo, enjoying the advantage of extra height. "Ah, Miss Bingley," he cried stepping up to regain his advantage, "how delightful to see your happy countenance on such a gray day and just the woman I wanted to see."

She eyed him with her usual distaste, "I can't imagine what business you would have with me."

"I've come with orders from my lord and master."

"How droll of you. I wasn't aware you had a superior."

"I love it when you tease me."

"Get on with it. What does Darcy require."

"What? No time for idle chatter? No exchanges of pleasantries? Well, I'll get right down to it. My cousin appears to have employed a personal assistant who will need a suite of rooms in the east wing."

"Impossible. There are none available."

"I beg to differ with you, Miss Bingley. There are four suites. One for Darcy, one for Georgiana, and one for Lady Catherine. The fourth is available and Darcy wants it for his assistant." He watched with great interest as her face blanched from flushed to a waxy gray. "The assistant will be here to take up residence on Thursday."

"I can give him a suite in the west wing."

Thoroughly enjoying himself, Richard favored her with a gentle smile, "I fear that won't do, my dear Miss Bingley. Darcy specified the east wing. He wants to be close to his aide in case he feels the need for a consultation in the middle of the night. You'll simply have to vacate your rooms and move to the west wing. I'm sure Mr. Collins would be delighted to have such a dainty damsel sleeping across the hall from him. Of course if that doesn't suit you, you can always move into the housekeeper's quarters below stairs. Mrs. Reynold lived in those rooms for forty years and was quite comfortable."

Richard thought for a moment that she would strike him. Unfortunately she resisted the urge and turned from him and headed...or scurried...down the hall. He couldn't resist one more barb, "Have a nice day Miss Bingley."

There was a small reading room just off the the first floor landing and that's where William Collins was sitting when he heard the exchange between Richard and Caroline. He smiled as he heard Richard whistling a tuneless air as the young wag slowly descended the stairs. Mischief was afoot! He could feel it in his bones. He moved towards the window and stared out at the barren hills of Derbyshire. Strange how life could make so many little turns. Months earlier he was ready to return to Hunsford and again take up the reins of his small parish. But that was before Fitzwilliam Darcy had mysteriously reappeared, supposedly found at a French hospital. It was an interesting story as stories go, but he didn't believe a word of it. He hadn't been a patient, nor had he been a prisoner of war. He was tanned and looked too healthy and well fed to have been languishing in a hospital or for that matter, a prisoner of a war camp. So, why the story? Where had he been?

He found great amusement in writing stories in his head. Darcy had been shipwrecked on a distant isle and had turned savage. Naturally he had to be civilized before he returned to polite society, for dinners of the upper class didn't contain beetles or grubs and it wouldn't tolerate a guest who wore nothing but a loincloth to a dance assembly. Or possibly he had fallen in love with Mata Hari and went mad when the French shot his sweet potato as a spy and was forced to take sanity classes before he was allowed to return to England. It was all harmless fun created solely for the pleasure of Lady Cat who enjoyed a good laugh when she was sober.

Unfortunately, the Fitzwilliam Darcy he had come to admire and respect showed no signs of savagery or madness and he was running out of ideas as to where he might have been for nearly a year. But now something new had been added for his amusement. Why had Richard Fitzwillliam gone out of his way to deliver this message when a trunk call would have served? And why had he sounded so pleased with himself? What had he said? Darcy might need to consult with his assistant in the middle of the night? Put that way, it sounded more like an assignation. His eyes narrowed in thought before he was able to smile in understanding. It wasn't what Richard had said. It was what he hadn't said. He hadn't used any pronouns when referring to the assistant. Caroline had jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was not a he, but a she. Could it be the beautiful, multi-talented nurse-librarian- fastest typewriter in England, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? If so, Caroline would come unhinged. But not before she killed Richard. He chucked lightly thinking of the next story he would write in his head.


	10. MOVING ON

MOVING ON

The morning following her meeting with Mr. Darcy continued gray and grim with a heavy fog lying low on the streets of London. Elizabeth couldn't see the other side of the street and she thought that it was fitting enough; she couldn't see past next week either. However, the morning had brought no regret. She had made her decision and was determined to live with it. She wasn't sure her decision was based on what she truly wanted, or that she was unwilling to disappoint Richard and Lydia. But as Shaw had put it, 'Man gives every reason for his conduct save one; and that one is his cowardice'. Lydia had forcefully reminded her that she was no coward though she had to admit that she had been doing a pretty good imitation of one for the last eight months.

Without her sister's company to occupy her mind she settled down in front of the fire with a cup of coffee and poor Moll Flanders. Surely her problems paled in comparison with De Foe's heroine. At least her mother-in-law wasn't her mother and her husband wasn't her half-brother. There was no insanity in the Bennet family unless she herself was slightly touched. Unfortunately she had reached the chapter where the eldest son invited Moll to act like they were married in bed. "Enough!" she cried tossing the book aside. She could write her own story. 'It was a dark and stormy night when Elizabeth Bennet acted like a harlot. Her lover was so enamored with her charms he ran away the next morning and lost his mind'. The end.

Annoyed, she reached for one of Lydia's fashion gazettes but it was a lost cause. Thoughts of Smithy would intrude. She had carried an image of him that hadn't matched the reality. Her memory had drawn a shadowy figure of unassuming bearing, slimly built with an engaging smile and dark penetrating eyes. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tall man of strength and power dressed in an impeccably tailored suit with a silk ascot tied around his throat. His dark eyes hadn't regarded her with affection nor had she seen a trace of that secret smile they had often exchanged when something amused them both. Instead he had favored her with a mild curiosity and a hint of good humor. He was wealthy and privileged and she couldn't imagine him sitting down with the cook and housekeeper for a cup of coffee and some small talk. She wasn't sure she could fit into his world even if he did eventually remember her.

She threw the magazine on the floor in disgust unable to pretend she was interested in the contents. Thoughts of Smithy consumed her. Richard had spread a lie about where he had found Darcy and he knew it was a lie. But how much of the truth did Richard know? When exactly did Smithy regain his memory? Before or after Richard had found him? What was the real story? And what were the circumstances leading to Smithy remembering his identity? Was it spontaneous? Was it an accident? Had someone recognized him? And where had it occurred? Her mother was positive that he had planned to return that night. So where had he been going and for what purpose? Over and over questions with no clear answers plagued her throughout the day.

By the time Lydia returned from work Elizabeth was distracted and exhausted. If Lydia noticed anything amiss she ignored it and placed a large box on Elizabeth's lap. "Summer Breeze," she said. Your favorite scent. I remember father said something about scent having the power to open an unexpected gateway to past memories, so be sure to douse yourself liberally. When you bathe, add a few drops to the water and be sure to add some to the rinse when you wash your hair."

"Should I brush my teeth with it?"

Lydia didn't answer. She went to her bedroom where she changed into her robe, then to the kitchen where she opened a bottle of wine. She returned to the parlor with the wine and two glasses which she placed on the table before returning to the kitchen. When she reappeared she held a plate of cheese and crackers and this too she placed on the table. When she finally dropped into her chair she answered her sister's question. "Laugh all you want, Lizzie, but you must treat this as war. Short of knocking some sense into him, you must do everything possible to make him remember you and scent is a start. You mustn't let Caroline Bingley outflank you. Next, you had better go home and pick up your Folding Corona. He typed on it so he might recognize it. And while you're there don't forget to pack your old jacket. You wore it when you'd go walking with him."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. See if you can find a keyring like the one you bought him and attach your cottage key to it."

"Should I wear it around my neck?"

"Don't be silly. You don't want to be obvious."

"You think reeking of perfume isn't obvious?"

"Cologne is subliminal. From what Charlotte says, Caroline wears a heavy musk scent. Remember what Smithy said about musk? Something about devious and greedy. It must have reminded him of Caroline."

Elizabeth watched her sister with some fascination. How had she remembered a bit of table talk a year ago? Elizabeth could hardly remember the conversation. All she could recall was understanding the subtle warning her father had offered about scent being more potent than words when it came to unlocking forgotten memories. She remembered the fear she felt knowing it was possible that one day Smithy would leave and never return. For a brief moment she was transported to the evening she sat at the bus station waiting for him to come back to her. In her mind's eye she saw herself almost crippled with the searing pain of grief and despair too terrible to bear. The pain had finally eased to a dull throb after so many months and now she was preparing to suffer once more. She was surely out of her mind.

Lydia's voice called her back, "I know that look, Lizzie. You had better not be having second thoughts. I won't have it!"

"No. I won't change my mind. I was just wondering how this farce will play itself out."

"Well, at least you no longer think of it as a Greek tragedy. A French farce always ends up happily."

"And you think this will end happily?"

"Why shouldn't it? It has all the elements of a farce. You must admit this is an improbable situation. You pick up a stranger and take him home with you. How absurd is that? You fall in love, naturally. He disappears and breaks your heart. Now you're going to be sleeping down the hall from him. This part calls for an aria."

"This is a farcical opera?"

"It's your story. You can craft it anyway you want." Lydia grew thoughtful, "Too bad you weren't dressed as a boy when you found your true love again. That would have been perfect."

Despite her misgivings, Elizabeth had to smile at her sister's optimism. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but in her heart she thought it improbable that a happy ending was possible.

Lydia, as a junior partner, now had to work on Saturday mornings so their shopping expedition didn't start until the afternoon which gave them no more than four hours to make Elizabeth into a seductive minx. Despite Lydia's attempts to lower her sister's neckline to her navel while raising her hemline to her crotch, Elizabeth stood fast and would not be moved though she did giggle imagining what she would look like wearing nothing more than a wide belt and a simple cross to the dinner table at Pemberley. In the end, and with Lydia's enthusiastic support, Elizabeth spent another small fortune on the latest mix and match fashions. She would not be swayed on the choice of colors, opting for muted jewel tones that suited her complexion and could never be considered garish. Elizabeth preferred soft wool and cashmere for daytime wear and silk for the evening, ever careful of her décolleté. The latest tidbit of gossip from Charlotte was that Caroline set a glaring example of bad taste favoring garish colors of orange, green and fuchsia and invariably all in satin and lace. Elizabeth was convinced that somehow she had come to be in a competition with this woman she had never even met. Richard and Charlotte both tended to exaggerate so it occurred to her that Caroline might be a very beautiful and stylish woman who would make her look like a dull wall flower. If so, then so be it! By five o'clock Elizabeth noticed that the crowds had thinned and the clerks were no longer smiling broadly. She called a halt to the festivities. She could do no more. Being a female and born with that innate love of beautiful clothes she felt her confidence growing but she would never be a femme fatale. Her sense of humor would never allow it.

On Sunday Elizabeth and Lydia met with Charlotte for lunch at the Ritz. Elizabeth was about to join a group of strangers on an estate two hundred miles north and she wanted to get a sense of what she was getting herself into. She was disappointed to learn that Jane would not be joining them as she had a previous engagement with Georgiana Darcy and Anne De Bourgh. She was inclined to believe that Jane wouldn't embellish the basic facts, whereas Charlotte was too much like Richard. It was difficult to discern where the truth left off and their sense of the absurd took over.

To her relief, Lydia had apparently cleared the way for her. "I understand," Charlotte said, "that you want to learn more about the inhabitants of Pemberley and you want the unvarnished truth. I warn you that is impossible! We each of us carry our own baggage and see what we want to see. But I'll do my best."

She started with Lady Catherine. "Our aunt is a poor pathetic soul who believes she lives in the wrong century. According to Richard's father, his sister was perfectly fine growing up. Then she suffered a terrible fall from her horse when she was twenty two and was unconscious for two weeks. When she awoke she was never quite the same again. Not only couldn't she remember the fall, but had forgotten the entire month before the accident. Where she had a placid temperament before, she now had fits of anger and sudden bouts of depression which invariably ended in tears. In those days they didn't know anything about head injuries or what to do about it and they still don't. But after a couple of years she regained some kind of normalcy and got married to a widower with a child. The child is Anne de Bourgh. When her father died Anne was invited to Pemberley because aunt Cat didn't know how to take care of a young child nor did she wish to learn. There isn't much more to say about Anne. She's very sweet and imagines she's in love with Darcy."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to glance at Lydia, "does Anne still live at Pemberley?"

"No. She lives in London but when Georgiana visits the estate Anne usually accompanies her. They're best friends."

"How does Darcy feel about Anne?," Lydia asked.

"He treats her like a little sister. They really grew up together." She dismissed Anne with a wave of her hand, "Back to aunt Cat. Years ago she learned that some ancestor of the family once owned an estate down in Kent. Since then she has become fixated on Rosing's Park which is how William Collins comes into this picture. Apparently aunt Cat started visiting this derelict estate regularly and that's how she came to meet Mr. Collins. He was the pastor of this rinky-dink village of Hunsford. I have no idea how or why they became friends, but they did. He began to go up to Town regularly and escorted her to concerts and plays. When Darcy went missing, Lady Cat determined to move to Pemberley. She had great hopes of persuading Georgie to buy Rosing's park for her. Apparently this was something she had been trying for years to get Darcy to do. Anyway, she convinced Mr. Collins to accompany her so he took a sabbatical from his duties and ended up at Pemberley.

"He's the zombie that Richard refers to?" asked Elizabeth.

Charlotte nodded curtly, "Richard thinks he's so clever when he labels people before he knows anything about them. It's only one of his faults." She pushed her plate away and began the process of attaching a cigarette to the ebony holder. This gave Elizabeth time to glance at Lydia who responded with an impish grin.

Charlotte took a drag and continued, "Mr. Collins is a strange bird. He seldom says anything unless spoken to directly so it's hard to know what he's thinking, but he listens, make no mistake. I have a feeling his brain is like a sponge. And he takes care of aunt Cat which is a good thing. He even waters down her gin and sends her off to bed when he thinks she's had too much. And they're not sleeping together! He's more like her caretaker. I have a feeling that he's a sad little man. He's a man in his thirties and he's taking care of a woman in her sixties. Why doesn't he have his own family? Richard has a lot of fun at their expense though in my heart I know he doesn't believe they're doing nasty."

"I take it you're not overly fond of Richard," ventured Lydia.

"You take it wrong," Charlotte snapped. "I'm very fond of him. I just think it's time for him to grow up. Richard has always been lighthearted never taking anything seriously. But since the war he's become almost a caricature of the boy I grew up with. There's an anger beneath his humor."

Elizabeth was startled, "I've never seen that side of him. I've never seen your cousin angry."

"You don't know him well enough to recognize it, Lizzie, and you wouldn't have looked for it. Richard has never spoken of it it but I know he was devastated when he understood that his days in the army were numbered; that he would be relegated to an office smothered in red tape. Then he learned that Darcy had gone missing. He shared guardianship of Georgie with Darcy so now he had to deal with her grief. She had already lost her parents early in the war. Losing her beloved brother almost crippled her. His anger and frustration mounted when he discovered that the army had no record of Darcy. So he spent months in France and Germany looking for him. Once he found him he was dismayed to see how altered Darcy was. Since then he's been attending funerals of his comrades. Mustard gas is an insidious weapon, Lizzie. It takes it's sweet time to thoroughly destroy the lungs and the victim dies a horrible death gasping for his last breath. But why am I telling you this? You had first hand knowledge of this at Sussex."

"Yes. I remember." Elizabeth didn't want to dwell on that part of her past. "Has Mr. Darcy recovered from his wounds?"

"He seems perfectly healthy to me. A little absent minded at times but otherwise fine. Darcy and Richard have always been more like brothers than cousins. They're the best of friends despite their dissimilar personalities. But Darcy has gone in the opposite direction from Richard. He has withdrawn and seems almost detached from his emotions. I know that war changes men. How could it not? But I want things to be the way they were. Our world is changing so rapidly I can't keep up. I'm almost as bad as aunt Cat. She wants to live in the last century and I would be happy to go back to my childhood. I think constantly of long lazy afternoons at Pemberley; picnics on the wide green lawns; crazy games of croquet and so much laughter. Now there's nothing to laugh at. A somber mood has descended on that beautiful estate and no one seems capable of bringing back the happiness we once shared. But", she added with a toss of her head, "life goes on and so must we. What else can I tell you?"

"According to Richard," Elizabeth said gently , "Miss Bingley had hopes of becoming Mr. Darcy's assistant. How will she take to me?"

Charlotte shrugged, "She will be sucking on her bile, I imagine. But you can handle her, Lizzie. You're a lady and she isn't."

"But what is Miss Bingley really like?"

"Greedy and devious."

Elizabeth caught her breath hearing the exact words that Darcy had uttered at Hertfordshire. "Why does Mr. Darcy keep her on?"

Charlotte shook her head in obvious disgust, "He says she reminds him of something. Now my cousin rarely says something stupid...he leaves that to Richard, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. He's known Caroline for the better part of five years so of course she reminds him of something. She reminds him of her! At the table she sits at his right hand and chatters gaily about the latest fashions, how wonderful Pemberley is, and how she suffered when she thought he had died in France among all those French people. How he refrains from rolling his eyes at such nonsense, I'll never know. But he watches her intently with this little frown on his face like she's the most important person in the world and I know he can't stand her! Worse still, she wears this ghastly heavy scent and I don't understand why he doesn't drop dead from the vapors."

Lydia giggled, "She probably bathes in it."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she gargled with it!"

Back home Elizabeth and Lydia agreed that it had been an interesting afternoon. Lydia was focused on Charlotte and Richard, positive that love was in the air. Elizabeth was not that sure. "I think they have a serious problem. I'm surprised Charlotte doesn't call him Peter...as in Pan. She may be in love with him but being in love doesn't necessarily make a good marriage. He's an outrageous flirt and Charlotte won't put up with that."

"He's just sowing his wild oats."

"Lydia, Richard Fitwilliam is twenty-seven years old. Most men of that age are looking for a wife and not a good time."

Lydia grinned, "When I get married I plan to give my husband a good time."

Elizabeth laughed softly, "I suppose I might have worded that differently." But it was all so sad. Charlotte longing for the summer days of long, lawn skirts and parasols. Richard, despondent over the loss of his career, probably longing for the happy days long past; angry at what the war had brought home to his family. Lady Catherine desperate to find her place in another age. William Collins was another soul adrift. And what of Darcy? What was he seeking? And would he find it? "If I wasn't depressed before, I am now. These people are living in paradise and yet according to Charlotte they are all miserable."

"You'll simply have to write your own story, Lizzie."

"I suppose. I can be Catherine Earnshaw, wailing over the moors for her lost love, Heathcliff. Or I can be Jane Eyre and run away from Rochester and end up starving in the hedgerows."

"Surely you can think of a heroine who finds her true love and lives happily ever after."

"I suppose I can try."

On Tuesday Elizabeth headed home to Longbourn. Beyond following Lydia's instructions she wasn't sure just what else she was planning. She had to tell her parents that she was now employed and at least for the next few months would be living in Derbyshire. How much more information she wished to impart she was still undecided. She feared her parent's disapproval. But more importantly, she didn't want them to discourage her. She'd made the decision to take the job and had to admit that for the first time since meeting him again she felt excitement building at the prospect of entering his world. She was, however, not so blind that she couldn't see the reality of her situation. If he hadn't shown any sign of recognition when she stepped into his office, there was no reason to expect that her appearance at Pemberley would be any different. They would have a working arrangement and nothing more. There would be no long walks along country roads; he would not offer his arm to her; there would be no teasing banter between them. And she would not allow her eyes to be drawn to him while in company. She had to be particularly cautious when Richard was in residence for as far as she knew he was the only one who knew that he had been found in England and not in a French hospital and she didn't want him to suspect that she had played a part in Darcy's life during the time he was lost.

At Meryton she stopped at a small shop and found the identical key chain she'd purchased for Smithy. At first she asked for her name to be engraved then changed her mind. She had the small gold disk engraved with a Sweet William, one on each side, hoping he'd remember the flowers bordering the cottage.

Elizabeth hadn't warned her parents that she was heading their way so when she walked into dining room in time for lunch they greeted her with surprise and delight. This was followed by concern that something was amiss. After reassuring them that both she and Lydia were fine they settled down for a pleasant meal. She relayed all the news concerning Lydia and assured them that their youngest was as happy as she had ever seen her, that she was already looking to the future. She planned one day to create her own signature fragrance and might even try her hand at fashion design. All three agreed that with Lydia Bennet, anything was possible.

"And what of you, Elizabeth?" Her father asked. "What are your plans?"

"I've taken a position as the personal assistant to a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy who resides in Derbyshire, Father."

"Darcy of Pemberley?"

"Yes. You've heard of him?"

"Of course. His family is known for their philanthropy. He's known to be a kind of recluse. Will you live at the estate?"

"Yes."

"Well, from what I hear, Pemberley is very beautiful and there should be enough variety to keep you from getting bored. I hope it works out for you."

"What," her mother wanted to know, "does a millionaire look like? I don't think I've ever seen one."

"Mr. Darcy is quiet and unassuming."

Perhaps you'll meet a nice rich man there, Lizzie."

She managed a smile, "perhaps."

Twice during the course of the meal she was on the brink of telling them the truth but each time the words stuck in her throat. They'd been so worried about her during the past year and now when it seemed that she had finally accepted her loss, she couldn't very well tell them that she was deliberately courting disaster. Elizabeth could not bring herself to tell them the truth. It would only upset them and there would be questions she was unable to answer. She was uneasy enough over her decision. She simply could not leave her parents at Longbourn knowing how much they would worry about her.

The following day she packed her car with everything she thought might provoke memories of the time he spent at Longbourn including the fisherman's jersey that he'd been so fond of. It had been her gift to him on Christmas day. She'd always believed that he was so partial to the jersey because it had been her gift. Now she wondered if it had only seemed to be something familiar to him. Possibly he owned one and she would see him wear it at Pemberley. She herself planned to wear it with her jodhpurs in case there was an opportunity to ride on the estate.

Time spent at Longbourn would not be complete without a trip to Mount Oakham to speak to her old friend. She murmured softly to the giant ancient moving her hand slowly over the rough bark. As always, her thoughts turned to all the lovers who had come before her, remembering the last time she had opened her heart. She had returned to Longbourn fearing how short her time with Smithy would be and mourning his loss before he had even gone. So much time had passed; so much pain and longing. And now she was starting the process all over again, possibly with the same end. Her only hope was that she was better prepared to face another loss; her only consolation was that Smithy would never again hurt her for that man no longer existed.

After a leisurely breakfast on Thursday morning she set out for Derbyshire. The roads were clear, the sky blue and after a dreamless sleep she felt refreshed and determined to treat this escapade not as a folly but as a lark. And why not? She had nothing to lose that she hadn't already lost. And there was an irony attached to her situation for it had occurred to her that she might not love Mr. Darcy. He was, after all, not a stranger in a strange land but a man of power and wealth, comfortable in the home of his birth. There would be nothing vulnerable about him; nothing that would invite tenderness as it had with Smithy. She had to keep that in mind and treat Mr. Darcy as a common and indifferent acquaintance. All well and good as long as he didn't look at her intently with a little frown on his face as if she were the most important woman in the world; she hoped fervently that he wouldn't succumb to the vapors of 'Summer Breeze'.

She expected the drive not to take little more than four hours and all went smoothly enough for the first three hours. She was making good time until the road began to gradually rise. She hadn't taken into account the narrow roads that crisscrossed the hills and peaks of Derbyshire. Compared to the scenery of Hertfordshire, the landscape of Derbyshire appeared almost primordial in the starkness that greeted her as she gained each crest. At one point she pulled over to stretch her legs and gazed out at the panoramic view of what she imagined the world had looked like in it's infancy and was moved to tears by it's stark beauty. It would not be to everyone's taste but at that moment she thought she would be content to live the rest of her life in Derbyshire. Or was that wishful thinking?

By the time she reached Lambton she was slightly unhinged by the experience of navigating so many curves on such narrow roads. She was torn between stopping at the small inn for a cup of tea and a quick wash-up, or pressing on to Pemberley. She wanted to make a good first impression but a glimpse at the lowering sun decided for her. She'd been told that Pemberley lay only five miles from Lambton but in Derbyshire five miles could take an hour of twists and turns and she didn't dare continue on in the dark. She settled for a brief stop at the local inn where she bathed her face in cool water and attempted to calm herself. Five miles from Pemberley! How on earth had she come to be here? She gazed at herself in the mirror hardly able to recognize herself. She saw a mixture of fear and excitement. She couldn't decide which emotion was paramount.

To her vast relief, after she passed through Lambton the road began to gently slope down onto a straight road bordered by a forest. She could see for miles ahead and relaxed behind the wheel enjoying the scenery and keeping an eye out for a glimpse of the estate. If she missed the turnoff she feared she'd end up in Scotland. Finally she spotted a discreet sign announcing her destination had been reached and she turned off the road and stopped at the small lodge adjacent to the massive gate guarding the estate.

A guard approached her from the lodge and offered her a smile, "Miss Bennet?" he asked. At her nod, he turned from her and waved to someone who remained hidden. A moment later the gate opened and the guard waved her though, "Welcome to Pemberley," he said.

Past the gate, she groaned. Still no sign of the house. She wondered how on earth did the people a century ago manage travel with a horse or carriage? It had to have been exhausting and surely once arrived, it would take a week to recover. Once more the road began it's gentle slope up. When she reached the crest she slowed to a crawl and then stopped. She got out of the car and leaned against the bonnet taking in the beauty before her. Lush greenery and wild flowers abounded everywhere she looked, and at it's boundary deep forests of towering oaks. The swelling stream captured her attention and she followed it with her eyes before raising them to the massive granite mansion almost hidden from view as it nestled among nature's harmony.

She lost track of time as she stood there gazing in rapture at Pemberley. But thoughts of the master of this estate soon intruded and her excitement began to ebb. She could see the writing on the wall. Caroline Bingley was not the only woman who was reaching too high.


	11. PEMBERLEY

PEMBERLEY

Elizabeth assumed there had been a call from the lodge announcing her imminent arrival for she had no sooner parked next to an ancient roadster before a servant appeared at her side and opened the door for her. "Good afternoon, Miss," he said. "I'll collect your bags, if you please."

As she approached Pemberley House she felt as if she had entered another world. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground and backed by a ridge of high woody hills. The setting was magnificent. She'd always thought that Netherfield park was the height of grandeur but now that great estate paled in comparison to Pemberley. To think that this building had stood just so for more than two centuries filled her with awe wondering at it's history.

It was easy to fall into her childhood fancy and imagine all the stories it could tell if only it could speak.

She began her ascent slowly, still casting her eyes about taking at the natural beauty of her surroundings. Before she was halfway up the steps the massive door of Pemberley swung open and the butler appeared on the landing and waited patiently for her before greeting her with a pleasant smile. A blazing fire further greeted her as she entered the anteroom and allowed the butler to take her coat. The lofty room was mid-sized and contained a sofa and two plush chairs for the visitors who could wait in comfort before being granted permission to enter the inner sanctum. Upon a side table a large vase filled with hothouse flowers made a pretty picture of welcome.

Elizabeth felt a tad silly as she followed the butler down a long hall into a larger room as beautifully appointed as the last. It seemed a solemn occasion, one fit for an audience with the king. She half expected that Darcy would appear wearing an ermine cape and a crown. "My name is John," the butler said. "and if you'll wait for just a moment, Miss Bennet, a servant will see you to your rooms. There seems to have been a mix-up with the staff. They were expecting a gentleman."

Before she could digest this information a young women hardly more than a child and dressed in a powder blue dress with it's inevitable servant's white bib-apron hurried towards her with a smile. She seemed out of breath as she curtsied, "My name is Betty and I'll be pleased to serve you. If you'll follow me, please."

Elizabeth was somewhat surprised that she hadn't been turned over to the housekeeper who would then turn her over to a servant. That was the norm, or so she had been told. She knew little of how the rich lived. Was Miss Bingley deliberately insulting her? If so, the snub hadn't worked. She was pleased not to meet with her so soon after her arrival. However, before the question was formed she asked, "Is Miss Bingley here?"

There was a slight hesitation, "Yes, Miss. But Miss Bingley naps during the afternoon."

"Does she indeed?" A housekeeper who napped during the afternoon? Fascinating! She must impart this information to Mrs. Hill. She was sure that their old housekeeper would get a good laugh out of it.

"Yes, Miss. And she'll be very cross with us when she finds out we almost sent a valet to lead you to your rooms. We were expecting a gentleman. It was only after George down at the lodge called up and said that a Miss Bennet had arrived that we learned of the mistake. We can't understand how it happened. We were all sure that Miss Bingley said a young man had been hired by Mr. Darcy."

The girl seemed genuinely upset. "It was an honest mistake, Betty. No harm was done."

Betty wasn't so sure. "Miss Bingley likes things to go smoothly. She will be angry."

Elizabeth wanted to pursue the subject of Miss Bingley but didn't want to take advantage of the young girl. Servants were not supposed to talk about private matters concerning the staff or the guests. Besides, she had just learned something new about Caroline Bingley. She was a bully, and Elizabeth hated bullies.

She had seen enough of that in Sussex. Some of the older nurses had been downright nasty to the newer girls, taking advantage of them, relegating every dirty job to the novices. She herself had put up with it for six months before she'd had enough and threatened to quit unless it stopped.

She changed the subject. "Is Mr. Darcy here?"

"No, Miss. Mr. Darcy is still in town, I believe."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I can't say, Miss. Mr. Darcy comes and goes as he pleases. We never know when he'll show up."

Elizabeth suppressed a smile at the ingenuous response. Straight out of Bronte novel. Was Mr. Darcy another Rochester? Except Mr. Darcy didn't keep an insane wife locked in the tower. At least she hoped not.

She followed Betty up one of the broad staircases, admiring the portraits lining the walls. As they ascended, decades of the last century unfolded. Elizabeth was fascinated by the changing styles of the subjects. She wondered if she would find a portrait of Mr. Darcy dressed in tweed somewhere. Somehow she doubted it. At the top of the stairs a large portrait caught her eye and she stopped for a moment transfixed at the likenesses of a young couple. By the clothes they were wearing she dated them as having lived during the Napoleonic era. Remarkably, he reminded her not of Mr. Darcy, but of Smithy. He was sitting on a stone bench with a gentle smile playing on his lips as he contemplated the young woman at his side. She was staring at the artist with a soft secretive smile. "Who are these people, Betty," she asked.

Betty shrugged, "I don't know, Miss, but it's my favorite. Most of the other pictures make the people look so cold and unfriendly. But these two look to be so in love. It's very romantic, don't you think?"

"Yes, very romantic." How clearly she remembered that same gentle smile playing on Smithy's lips when she would call down to him every morning. When Mr. Darcy looked at this portrait did he see another shadowy world? Could he imagine another woman smiling a secretive smile?

They continued down the hall towards the east wing. Elizabeth was ushered into a cozy sitting room. It too was beautifully appointed with sofa and chairs, a writing desk and a small table containing more hothouse flowers. A glowing fire added warmth to the gold and moss green. The bedroom continued the color scheme. The large bed was canopied with green silk over a darker green duvet, but what caught Elizabeth's eye was the large window that looked down at the lake and the towering peaks behind it. It was a perfect view and she was delighted to know what awaited her in the morning.

Her valises had been deposited on a slatted bench and Elizabeth watched in bemusement as Betty unpacked her clothes. She wasn't used to such service and felt embarrassed to be waited on, yet she hated to dismiss her for fear Betty would feel rejected somehow. She sensed that the poor girl was afraid of Caroline Bingley and she didn't want to add to her fears. "Betty, what made the staff think I'd be a gentleman?"

"That's what we were told, Miss. I think Miss Bingley got the order from Mr. Richard who was here last week. It made her very angry. These were her rooms and she didn't want to vacate them."

Elizabeth's heart sank. This was not an auspicious beginning. It didn't surprise her to know that Richard had a hand in the mix-up for he had made it clear that he despised the woman and would take great pleasure in fooling her into believing that Darcy had hired a man when he knew that she wanted the position. That Caroline Bingley had lost this suite for a woman simply would add salt to her wounds. There was no question in Elizabeth's mind that she had now acquired an enemy before she had even met the woman. How formidable an enemy, she would have to see. As for Richard, she was going to have to have a serious talk with him. Let him interfere with his own family but keep her out of his machinations.

After Betty left with a promise to wake her when it was time for dinner, she took a quick shower then couldn't resist crawling under the plush duvet. So, Mr. Darcy wasn't home. She had to admit to disappointment. It only proved the gulf that separated them. She wasn't important enough for him to come home to welcome her. And what had she expected? She was now only one more employee among the dozens of all his employees. She had to live with it. At least now she would have time to adjust to the house, where she would be working and especially the people whom she would be living with. She had little to fear from Lady Catherine or her friend William Collins. They would have no objection to her presence. Miss Caroline Bingley on the other hand was another kettle of fish. She had yet to meet this formidable woman and already she disliked her and she suspected that the feeling would be mutual. Well, she could handle that too. She'd had ample experience at Sussex with disagreeable people and had learned a bitter lesson. No one was going to run rough-shod over her. She had an advantage over most girls like Betty. She didn't need the job.

*****

When she awoke it had grown dark. She switched on the bedside light and sat up and glanced at her watch. She had slept for an hour and a half and felt refreshed and hungry. A few moment later Betty knocked and entered, "Drinks will be served in twenty minutes, Miss Bennet" she said.

At last some good news. A stiff drink would be just the thing to fortify her against her meeting with her fellow guests and any aggression from Caroline Bingley.

As an afterthought Betty added, "And Mr. Darcy and Mr. Richard have arrived."

Elizabeth's stomach fluttered at the news, terrified and excited in equal parts. This might take two stiff drinks. "Do we dress for dinner?"

"Only Miss Bingley dresses every night when Mr. Darcy is in residence. I think you'd be more comfortable in something warm. The halls can be a bit drafty this time of the year. Will you need help in dressing?"

Elizabeth refused the offer. She was grown woman and had been dressing herself from the age of four. She chose a dark brown skirt and a cashmere jersey the color of champaign. Dark brown tee-strap heels completed her ensemble. She added simple green beads and earrings that had been a Christmas gift from Smithy, and didn't forget the Summer Breeze. Lydia would never forgive her if she forgot the cologne. With one last look in the mirror she saw a stylish young lady. Nothing fancy, but the outfit suited her temperament and she was pleased. She fully expected to have a quiet and subdued evening where she would act a proper and prim young lady while keeping her eyes off Mr. Darcy. He was not Smithy and she had to remember that.

With one more deep breath she stepped out into the hall and headed down towards the staircase. She walked quickly past the three closed doors one of which was Darcy's suite, unwilling to meet him by chance in the hallway. She stopped abruptly as a strident, clattering sound reached her ears. She stood for a moment trying to assess whether she might be in danger. As she stared straight ahead, down at the far end of the west wing loomed a chartreuse apparition which grew larger as the sound increased. It was wearing matching spiked heels and heading straight for her. And it didn't look happy. It surely had to be the housekeeper. Elizabeth couldn't help gasping at the sight of Caroline Bingley. The dress she had chosen defied all expectation. The color was bad enough but the length was shocking. The satin barely reached her knees before three inches of feathers attempted to reach mid-calf and failed. Her matching turban with it's fluttering feather added to her considerable height. The outfit was clearly meant for a petite woman but on Caroline the effect was grotesque. She appeared to be over six feet tall of a nasty green the color of bile. Not even Lydia at the age of twenty could get away with wearing such a dress and Caroline Bingley was no spring chicken. The dress was suitable for a fool's masquerade ball and nowhere else.

She came to a halt a few feet from Elizabeth and aimed her feathered fan at her. "Who are you?" she demanded. "And what business do you have above stairs?"

"I'm Mr. Darcy's new assistant."

"I know what you've told the staff but that is utter nonsense. I was told to expect a Mr. Bennet"

"There seems to have been a misunderstanding. I'm Miss Bennet."

"That's impossible!" Elizabeth remained stubbornly silent while Caroline continued to glare until suddenly her eyes widened in disbelief, "Richard!" she snapped.

A nasty smile tightened her thin lips "How dare he bring his doxy into this house? Well, we'll see about this." She turned and started down the stairs, but not before she snapped open her fan to act as ballast to aid her in her precarious descent.

The sound was deafening much like a very large horse trotting on cobblestones. She'd been warned about Caroline but nothing could have prepared her for the awfulness of such a creature. At the base of the stairs poor Betty appeared and took one look at Caroline and with a look of terror retreated crossing herself as she mumbled a prayer. Elizabeth felt herself convulsing with laughter and trying desperately to smother any giggles trying to escape.

Next came Richard down the hall from the west wing. He was humming and grinning like a little boy. "I see you've met our housekeeper. Charming, isn't she?"

"Richard, what have you done? Did you deliberately leave her with the impression that I was a man?"

If possible, Richard's grin broadened, "It's possible."

"Well now she thinks I'm your doxy." Despite her annoyance she couldn't keep a straight face. "And she's off to tell my employer that I'm a kept woman."

"Has she?"

"You're incorrigible! She saw me coming from the east wing and jumped to the wrong conclusion and now she's gone to spread her lies about me. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself."

Richard leaned over and bestowed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Lets hurry and catch the show," he said taking her arm.

Together they went down the stairs. At the landing they could hear Caroline's voice in a near shriek telling her tale. When they entered the drawing room Caroline turned and pointed her feathered fan at Elizabeth. "There she is! This is an outrage," she cried. "To think that your own cousin would invite his paramour into this home under the pretension that you had hired her as your assistant is a disgrace! You must throw her out immediately!"

Darcy acknowledged Elizabeth's presence with a nod and made to approach her but was held back by Caroline's grip on his arm forcing him to turn his attention back to her. In a reasonable tone he addressed his housekeeper in a gentle voice, "Miss Bingley," he said, "I fear you're in error. I hired Miss Bennet as my personal assistant last week. She is the primary reason I returned to Pemberley this evening."

"But that is impossible! You knew that I wanted that position! But you said that you've always had a male assistant and Richard led me to believe that you had hired a man. I had to give up my rooms to accommodate this..this woman."

From the edge of the room came a new voice and Elizabeth turned to see an elderly woman sitting on a sofa. "So which is it, Nephew?" she asked. "Is she your assistant or is she Richard's doxy?" A man dressed in black moved towards the woman and quietly laid a hand on her shoulder.

Darcy spoke sharply, "Aunt Catherine, that will be enough out of you." He turned to Elizabeth, "May I introduce my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and a guest, Reverend William Collins."

Elizabeth acknowledged the introductions and forcing a smile said, "I am no man's mistress, Lady Catherine, "and have no plans to be so. And thank you for allowing me to clarify my status."

"Easy." whispered Richard. "Let me get you a drink. What's your pleasure?"

"A cup of nightshade will do."

"Would a sherry do as well?"

She nodded and turned back and addressed Caroline directly, "Be careful how you label me, Miss Bingley. There are slander laws in England."

"It's true," Richard added with a malicious grin. "If you don't believe me just ask your brother, Charles. I'm sure he would be delighted to tell you how much money you can lose in a slander suit."

Caroline flushed and turned away and stalked to the window.

Darcy regarded Elizabeth with good humor and rewarded her with a wry smile. "Welcome to Pemberley," he said.

She allowed a faint smile and turned away from him mindful that she was being observed and didn't want the room to see any pathetic look of longing from her. She accepted a drink from Richard with a nod of thanks. All things considered, her first evening had gone reasonably well so far. She'd been accused of being Richard's fancy lady; she had threatened to sue Caroline Bingley for slander; and she had been on the receiving end of that familiar smile that still had the power to make her insides go all soft. Dinner should be a breeze. Alas it was not to be. Misfortune continued to dog Caroline Bingley.

When the dinner bell rang, Caroline rushed from the window and grabbed Darcy's arm with long, orange lacquered talons. Elizabeth turned away with a smile and took Richard's offered arm. In the dining room there was a slight disturbance when Darcy didn't lead Caroline to her usual position at his right hand. Instead, he tried to divert her further down the table. She wrenched her arm away and in defiance walked angrily to the chair at the end of the table which was usually reserved for Georgiana. Richard escorted Elizabeth to Caroline's place next to Darcy, then took a seat opposite her.

Elizabeth knew how humiliating it had to be for the hapless housekeeper. First to lose her rooms, next the position she wanted and finally she had lost her place at the dinner table. She half expected Caroline to crawl off to a dark corner and lick her wounds. But Caroline Bingley was made of sterner stuff. The soup had hardly been served when Caroline launched her attack. "I understand," she cried down the length of the table, "that you are the reincarnation of Florence Nightingale. How fortunate for you," she added with an ill-concealed sneer.

With a sour smile at Richard, Elizabeth faced her adversary, "Indeed it is, Miss Bingley. I might have been reborn as Typhoid Mary, despised and feared by all.

Now that would be unfortunate."

There was a sharp snort from Lady Catherine, "Typhoid Mary! That's a good one." Once more Mr. Collins laid a quietening hand on her.

Caroline ignored the interruption and continued her assault on Elizabeth. "Nursing is a noble profession or so I've been told. Of course I wouldn't be caught dead changing bedpans but to each his own. However, I'm surprised you left it to take a position as a lowly secretary, Miss Bennet. Curious indeed!"

Elizabeth knew she should ignore the challenge but her ire was up and she was afraid she'd choke on her soup if she didn't respond. "What's even more curious, Miss Bingley, is why you would contemplate vacating your position as housekeeper for that of a lowly secretary?"

"I am the household manager of Pemberley!"

Once more Lady Catherine made her contribution. "Household Manager, my ass!"

Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Collins waiting for the gentle warning of a hand on Lady Catherine's arm. Remarkably, he turned his head in Elizabeth's direction and seemed to be waiting for her response. She turned her attention back to Caroline. "Household manager is a handsome title indeed," she replied serenely. "However, I confess to some confusion, Miss Bingley. You obviously take great pride in your title yet you would exchange your lofty position for the title of lowly secretary. To be enclosed in an office with Mr. Darcy all day unable to sleep away your afternoons would be quite a change for you. I find this most curious. But perhaps you have a hidden agenda which I'm not aware of. If so, do enlighten me, Miss Bingley. What would you propose by this demotion?"

Caroline's face turned an interesting shade of lobster and was silenced. Despite the venomous glare aimed at her, Elizabeth was finally able to finish her soup in peace.

"Excellent soup," Richard remarked.

"Indeed it is," replied Darcy. "It has a certain piquancy that I find quite stimulating."

"Like a breath of fresh air."

"Entertaining too. We must have it more often."

Elizabeth frowned wondering what they were going on about. It was a plain consumé.

The rest of the dinner progressed quietly and following dessert a sullen Caroline left the party without another word. The two remaining ladies left the three men to their brandies while Elizabeth and Lady Catherine were served a post brandial liqueur in the drawing room.

Elizabeth couldn't think of a thing to say. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself. Caroline Bingley deserved her comeuppance but she had shown poor judgment to take her on while Darcy sat by her side. What must he think of her? She had acted as much of a harridan as Caroline. If she had a hope of Darcy remembering the time he spent in Hertfordshire she had best revert back to the Lizzie Bennet he knew at Longbourn. She continued to sit mute until Lady Catherine broke the silence,

"Do get me a real drink, Miss Bennet. In the cabinet...not the watered down version sitting on top. And be quick about it before Willy comes. He keeps me on a tight rein."

Against her better judgment, Elizabeth did as she was told. When she returned with the glass which contained a scant inch of gin she sat down opposite Darcy's aunt and continued to remain silent. She meant no disrespect to Lady Catherine. She was simply exhausted. She felt emotionally spent. Sitting so near Darcy for more than an hour had undone her. Only one thought had been her constant companion when Caroline had finally shut up. How could he not know her? For six months they had shared three meals a day; had taken so many walks together; had laughed together. How could he not know her? He had meant the world to her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. He was so dear and familiar to her. She knew his every mood. She knew his scent. She could still feel his body against hers. How could he not know her?

"Miss Bennet, are you ill?"

Startled, Elizabeth looked at Lady Catherine in surprise. "I'm fine, Lady Catherine. I'm just tired. It was a long drive. I need a good night's sleep."

"Where were you? I know that look. You were some place full of pain."

Caught off guard, Elizabeth regarded this elderly tippler with alarm. After all her resolutions to stoicism, that Lady Catherine, of all people, should see her torment was unnerving. How could she keep the truth of her relationship to Darcy from Richard if she could be so transparent? She had to remind herself that Lady Catherine did not know the truth behind Darcy's disappearance. She also had to remind herself, that as Charlotte had pointed out, everyone carries their own baggage. She had been led to believe that Lady Catherine was a drunken, delusional old woman. Drunken and delusional she might be but she was finding her astute as well. She had thoroughly enjoyed Elizabeth's put-down of Caroline Bingley and was now regarding Elizabeth with acute intelligence.

Lady Catherine shrugged at Elizabeth's continued silence. "We all have those dark places we retreat to, Miss Bennet. I find that the older I get the more I have flashes of so many inconsequential forgotten memories; snapshots of the past that make no sense. I suppose I'm preparing for my final moment of life. I have much to regret. But you are too young to contemplate your mortality. I see before me a beautiful young woman. She's well dressed, indicating money. She's educated and able do away with the likes of Caroline Bingley in a few words. Yet she comes here to bury herself in the middle of nowhere. It smells of escape.

I think perhaps your pain is something new. A broken heart perhaps?"

Despite her uneasiness, Elizabeth was mildly amused. "If that were true, Lady Catherine, I would not be inclined to admit it."

"You would not gratify an old woman?"

"I think, Lady Catherine, that you are very capable of entertaining yourself. You don't need a cat's paw."

Her reply drew a light chuckle. "I look forward to many evenings with you, Miss Bennet. As for Caroline Bingley, she got what she deserved. It was long overdue. You have no reason to repine."

"I might have handled her anger more delicately. But I must ask you, Lady Catherine, why if she is so repugnant, is she still here?"

"I foolishly signed a contract with her employment agency. We will be rid of her in June."

When the men joined them a few minutes later both women were conversing affably. Elizabeth had decided to ignore Lady Catherine's impertinence as long as she didn't press her further on why she had come to Pemberley. The three men eyed them curiously. Richard wanted to know what had put them in such good humor?

Elizabeth responded with a wry smile. "A good fencing match is always enjoyable."

"And who won?" he asked.

Lady Catherine replied, "It was a draw."

Darcy favored Elizabeth with a dimpled grin, "Well done, Miss Bennet." Instead of sitting down near her, he walked past her and took up a position at the window. She felt her cheeks burn in disappointment. Despite her discomfort in his presence, it was disappointing to see him more interested in the darkness of Pemberley rather than conversing with her. She glanced at Richard and was struck by the palpable pain on his face as he gazed at his cousin. She wondered if the same pain was reflected on her own face.

She stood and approached the window determined to have a conversation with him. "Mr. Darcy?" she said.

He turned and regarded her absently. In his hand he held a familiar keyring, his thumb rubbing the gold disk. "Yes, Miss Bennet?"

She brought her eyes up to his face and saw Smithy as he had appeared the first time she saw him. He looked so lost the desire to touch him was intense. She took a step back. "I...I was wondering when we should meet and discuss my duties."

His answer left much to desire. He was noncommittal and unsure of his plans. He did however advise her to look over his office and see what was necessary and purchase anything she wanted in Lambton. He added as an aside, that he was returning to London in the morning. It was Anne De Bourgh's birthday and he was taking Anne and Georgiana out for dinner.

Elizabeth's disappointment was keen. There was also a touch of fear. Was he now courting Anne? If so, there was no question in her mind that she would have to leave Pemberley and put the experience behind her. "Will they be returning with you?"

He was clearly surprised by the question. "I shouldn't think so, Miss Bennet. They have their own lives to live and prefer the bright lights of London. Anne works and Georgie is at school. They won't be here until summer."

Again she made another half-hearted attempt to know exactly what her duties would be but soon gave up trying to get any information from him. He was not interested, or as Richard had described him, he was disengaged.

Eventually there was a slight fuss from Lady Catherine. Mr. Collins was helping her to her unsteady feet. This gave Elizabeth a perfect excuse to make her own escape. She couldn't bear to see him this way. She made her excuses and fled the room, much as she had from his house in town. Let him think of her as a skittish colt. She'd had enough for one night. In the morning she hoped to corner Richard and have a long talk with him before he left for Newcastle. If the Master of Pemberley didn't care whether she was there or not, why was she here? Richard had been determined to get his cousin to hire her and it was time to find out why.


	12. SETTLING IN

SETTLING IN

Elizabeth's first full day at Pemberley began as she struggled awake and realized to her surprise that she had missed her first sunrise at Pemberley. Disappointed, she donned her robe and went to the window and peered out at the bright morning. The beauty of the panoramic view was breathtaking. To awaken to such an exquisite setting knowing that this was your birthright handed down by caretakers that reached backed three hundred years could not fail to awe. She could only imagine what mixture of pride and humility the owner of such a land must feel as he surveyed his holdings knowing that one day he would pass Pemberley on to his own children. She wondered how he would feel if he knew in another life he enjoyed sitting in a kitchen chatting amiably with the housekeeper and cook of Longbourn.

She smiled at the thought and started to turn away when below her a movement drew her attention. She caught her breath as a lone rider came into view, riding out from the shadow of Pemberley House. Even from this distance, she recognized Fitzwilliam Darcy astride a powerful black beast loping easily towards the forest, content with the easy gait. An indifferent rider herself, she had always admired that special communion between man and animal. It was a perfect example of strength and control. She was relieved to see this side of him. She could even convince herself that the Smithy she had known was still there.

Lying awake for hours she had reviewed the previous evening over and over searching for one moment when he had shown any sign of the man she had known. Except for the one time he had roused himself to chastise Lady Catherine for her impertinence he had shown no spirit at all. He had offered little conversation at dinner and back in the drawing room he chose to keep himself aloof from his guests. It had been so disheartening to see him in such a state when she so clearly remembered the man she called Smithy. That man had been so eager to interact with her family and it hadn't taken him long to contribute his own thoughts. And this from a man who had no knowledge of his own identity.

How had his return home so altered his personality? As much as she didn't want to reflect on what she felt when she saw him with the keyring, she had to face the fact that she was part of what was ailing him. Not all, but a large part. She suspected that there was something more that was troubling him. Something that might even be connected to the reason he had lost his memory in the first place. As comforting as it might be to her vanity, it seemed too extraordinary that a misty memory of her had caused this change. There had to be more.

She dressed quickly hoping to get a word with Richard before he left for Newcastle. As she had done the previous evening , she took a deep breath as she stepped into the hall. It was her fervent hope they she wouldn't run into Caroline Bingley again. However, if that collision occurred, she was determined to behave herself and would not allow herself to be baited.

The road to hell, it was said, was paved with good intentions for she had not reached the staircase before she heard rather than saw her nemesis approaching. Miss Bingley had exchanged her chartreuse horror for the costume of a châtelaine. She was now dressed in a long, crow black gown and from her belt hung what looked like several hundred keys that clanked as she moved. The sight of this latest adventurous costume left Elizabeth awestruck at the audacity that a rational woman would dare to wear such an outfit.

Elizabeth hesitated for a brief moment desperate to have some fun but remembering her resolution made not five seconds earlier, thought better of it. Instead she hurried to gain the staircase hoping to avoid further conversation with Miss Bingley. But she was too late. Caroline pitched towards her at an ungainly tilt, "Well, Miss Bennet," Caroline snarled, "I see you're making yourself at home."

The smell of alcohol permeated the air and Elizabeth blinked in surprise. It was eight o'clock in the morning. "Thank you, Miss Bingley. Pemberley is indeed delightful."

"If you think you can use your arts and allurements on Mr. Darcy you will be disappointed."

"Arts and allurements, Miss Bingley? I recognize that line from a book I once read. I'm surprised that you can read."

Caroline's face stiffened as she grabbed the newel post to steady herself, "He's nearly engaged to Miss Anne De Bourgh. Now what have you got to say to that?"

"I'd say you have my condolences, Miss Bingley. I'm sure you did your best." Elizabeth continued down the stairs struggling to control her mirth. At least, Elizabeth thought, the servants would hear her coming long before she arrived on her broomstick. Caroline Bingley, she decided, was stark staring mad. She was also, Elizabeth thought, a not so secret drinker.

She lucked out when she found Richard alone in the breakfast room. She helped herself to breakfast and sat down opposite him and waited until he had poured her a cup of coffee. "Alright, Richard. Tell me exactly why I'm here. And don't tell me that your cousin needs a secretary or a personal assistant. From my short talk with him last night it was clear that he had no interest in dealing with anything but the estate and apparently he can do that all by himself."

"Precisely why I want you here, Elizabeth. At Sussex I saw how you nurtured your patients, how you gave them confidence. Darcy has been in a daze since the war. He has no purpose in life. He works hard but with little enthusiasm. He had so many plans before the war. He wanted to put his wealth to good use. And what better way than to improve the lives of children? After every trip to London he would complain bitterly of the plight of the young lives going to waste in the slums. He foresaw the downfall of England unless he could convince the government to provide a free education for the poorest of our country. He had so much ambition. Now he spends his time taking care of estate matters, rides around the estate, and then sequesters himself in the library reading. I hardly recognize the boy I grew up with. He ignores the chaos around him and when pressed he says he'll be fine as soon as he finds what he's lost. He makes absolutely no sense!"

"What has he lost?"

"If I knew that, I'd go and find it. He doesn't even know what he's lost. Something happened to him before I found him and that's all I can tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

Richard ignored the question. "When I found him he was in a state of...confusion. He...couldn't remember... how he was hurt."

Elizabeth watched Richard struggle with the half-truths of how he had found Darcy and thought how easy it would be to tell him the part she had played. Still, she hesitated unable to see how it would help the situation. It might even complicate matters. She couldn't possibly tell him the truth. If Lady Catherine could catch her off guard and unwittingly see her melancholy, she certainly couldn't let Richard in on her secret. The time for such an admission was much too late. He would wonder why she hadn't spoken up sooner. He would guess that she and Darcy had a past. He might even force her to confront Darcy and that was the last thing she wanted. "So what do you expect from me?"

"I want you to heal him. You have a way with strangers. You instinctively know how to make them comfortable enough to open up to you. I saw that time and time again in Sussex."

"Why me? Why not you or his sister?"

"Georgiana is so grateful that he's alive that she can't see how much he's changed. Even if she could, she wouldn't want to cause him any distress. And I'm too close to him. I've tried to shame him and I've used anger but nothing moves him. He seems to think he's fine. Even Charlotte has tried to talk with him and he sings the same song. He's fine. There's nothing to worry about. We need an outside influence...a stranger that can see him clearly, without prejudice or affection. You've had experience with treating all kinds of patients. I'm confident that you're what he needs. I want you to make him the man that he was."

If the situation hadn't been so serious she'd have laughed in his face. Which man did he want back? The cousin whom he'd grown up with, or the man who had lost his way until she found him? "What about Anne? Surely she could talk to him."

Richard shrugged, "Anne's had a childhood crush on him for years. All she can see is his curly hair and dimples. She remembers the boy who was kind to her. She's never really seen the real man. She's useless."

"Richard, start from the beginning. What was he like when you first saw him?"

There was a slight hesitation. "When I first found him he was...a little distracted, somewhat confused. But we...I mean, I thought it would pass."

Elizabeth caught the slip but decided to ignore it. Richard was not going to tell the truth. Then again, neither was she. "And what did the doctors in the hospital say about him?"

Richard looked confused, "Hospital? What hospital?"

Elizabeth suppressed a wry smile. Once on the street of lies it was easy to get lost. "The hospital in France."

Richard looked slightly abashed as he continued the lie, "They didn't know anything about him. He was just another patient."

"Richard, has it occurred to you that the problem with your cousin is simply a consequence of war? Not all men are born soldiers. Is it possible that his...confusion started before he was hurt?"

"No! My cousin isn't a coward. When he took his commission, several men from Lampton as well as many of his servants followed, proud to serve under him. They'd known him all his life and knew what kind of man he was."

"I assume you've talked to some of them. What did they tell you about how he was hurt?"

Richard's hesitation told it all. "Not one of those men returned. I think that this has preyed on his mind. Men in war always wonder why they survived when others didn't."

She sat stunned. "All of them?"

He nodded. "What made it worse was that he didn't know it. He couldn't remember how he had been injured. So when he returned to Pemberley he visited some of the families to see how they were doing, hoping that they could give him some information. One by one he found that they had all perished."

"And this is when you noticed a change in him?"

"Yes. In the beginning he was quiet and introspective but once he learned the fate of the men who had followed him to war something inside of him seemed to break and nothing seemed to matter to him anymore.

Elizabeth could no longer look at Richard for fear he'd see too much. She felt an overwhelming sadness for Smithy. He'd left the comfort of Longbourn and according to her mother was fully confident that he would return. Then something inconceivable happened. Then what? He had to be confused. He realized that he had lost time out of his life. That would have been terrifying to most people. What would he do next? He'd come back to the only home he'd ever known. Naturally he would try to find out what had happened to him. But to come home and find that all the men he'd gone to war with were dead had to have had a debilitating effect on him.

When he didn't return to her she'd allowed herself to fall into despair and self-pity. It had taken her months before she was willing to heal herself. What must it have been like for him? Losing his identity then finding that he alone had survived while others who had depended on him had not. Was he feeling guilty? Surely he was. A paramount fear he had to have was if he was responsible for their deaths.

"I noticed that he was holding a key chain in his hand last night. I've seen photos of men using prayer beads in much the same way. Besides counting prayers, it seems to have a calming effect on them. Is there something significant about the key chain?" She watched Richard forming the lie.

"I don't know anything about it. He had it on him when I found him. I have no idea where he came by it but it seems to be important to him."

It would be so simple to come clean with Richard but he was proving to be too quixotic. There was no telling how he might react. He might actually think that it would solve all Darcy's problems if he knew about Longbourn. She wasn't sure. She thought it just might accentuate Darcy's depression. The last thing he needed was a woman who might have a further claim on him.

Their conversation ended when Mr. Collins entered the breakfast room. She left soon after that and headed back to her room in a daze. She'd come to Pemberley fearful not to give herself away. And now Richard wanted her to use her feminine wiles on Darcy to nurse him back to health. She was right back where she started. Female nurses were only useful for soothing fevered brows with gentle hands. She'd be damned if she'd have a part of it. His family had been walking on eggshells around him. What he needed was someone to knock some sense into him. She'd been wallowing in self-pity for nearly a year and it had crippled her. She'd been fortunate to have a supportive family. Darcy's family was in disarray.

Elizabeth was so deep in thought as she ascended the stairs she didn't see Caroline standing at the top of the stairs until the housekeeper took a step down and careened into her. Elizabeth gasped in surprise and got a stronger whiff of alcohol and realized that the household manager was truly drunk. Elizabeth had no time to brace herself before the full weight of such a tall woman with the weight of so many keys made their situation precarious and in danger of both toppling down the stairs. Elizabeth tried desperately to steady the woman unwilling to release her grip on her for fear Caroline would plummet down the marble stairs and break her neck in the fall. Caroline was no help as she seemed to be in a comatose state. "Miss Bingley," Elizabeth spat sharply, "you are ill. You must return to your room before the servants see you."

Caroline's eyes popped open and with difficulty focused on Elizabeth. "Lemme go," she said straightening up somewhat. "How dare you touch me?" Elizabeth ignored the censure while helping her back to the landing. She aimed both of them towards the west wing and got about halfway there before Caroline shrugged Elizabeth away. "Leave me alone."

Elizabeth watched her as she staggered towards her room and wondered lightly how soon she herself would take to drink.

Back in her room she grabbed her Corona and headed back downstairs. She was directed to Darcy's office and refused an offer to carry her machine by a servant. She entered a nice sized room with a large desk facing the door. Off to the side was a smaller desk which she assumed was for her. She pulled out a connecting shelf and placed the machine on it. A brief examination of the desk showed that it had been cleaned out. No sheet of paper, carbon or otherwise was to be found. No folders or files remained and except for a few scattered paper clips and a couple of pencils, there was no sign that the desk had ever been used in the past. Two file cabinets had also been emptied.

She sat down in bewilderment. Once more it seemed that part of Darcy's identity had been erased. She was tempted to look through his desk to see if it too was empty but decided that it would be an invasion of privacy. She continued to stare at his desk as a memory surfaced, She remembered how she had pictured herself sitting just so, staring at her employer with heart beating fast, a sappy grin plastered on her face. Unwittingly the memory of her daydream brought a smile to her face and before she knew it was coming, she laughed out loud at her silliness.

"And what do you find so amusing, Miss Bennet?"

Startled, she looked over at the doorway and found herself staring into the smiling face of her employer. Her mouth dropped open in shock and embarrassment. As he approached her she remained mute unable to think of one sensible word.

This seemed to amuse him further. "I know you have the power of speech, Miss Bennet. It was on display last night."

She finally found her voice, "Really? I didn't think you were paying attention."

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss Bennet."

"That's true" she replied pondering his reply as she searched for a hidden meaning. "And" she added with a wry smile, "sound can also be deceiving. This morning I was sure that the plumbing at Pemberley was in serious disrepair. The alternative was that I had been visited by Marley's ghost. But it was only Miss Bingley."

He regarded her with a soft smile and perched himself on the edge of his desk. "Mrs. Reynolds, our previous housekeeper, used to wear that costume during the servant's masquerade ball on All Hallows Eve. Why Miss Bingley chose this day to wear such an outfit is anyone's guess but according to my butler, the staff is pleased that they can all hear her coming and take refuge."

"And you find that amusing?"

He shrugged, "She's my best friend's sister and she will be gone in a few months."

"And when she's gone will Pemberley be as it was?"

"How do you mean?"

"Charlotte spoke of ladies dressed in colorful muslins strolling the grounds carrying their parasols to retain their milky white skin. It's how she remembers Pemberley. Richard speaks of your aunt longing for a time lost in another century. And this morning Miss Bingley chose to don a remnant of another age. If you could return to another time, where would it be?"

A strange unfocused look settled in his eyes as he continued to regard Elizabeth. The moment passed so swiftly that she was able to convince herself that it had been a figment of her imagination. She watched him as his eyes lowered and lit on the old Corona, "Where on earth did you find that relic?" he asked.

"I brought it from Longbourn," she responded watching for his reaction.

"Longbourn?"

"That's the name of my parent's estate in Hertfordshire."

"Oh yes, I remember. While I'm in Town I'll buy you a Remington. The one that was here seems to have disappeared."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Darcy. I've had this machine for years. It's an old friend. I plan to write my memoirs on it as soon as I've accumulated enough memories."

His good humor faded somewhat, "Yes. Memories," he said almost to himself.

"It's unfortunate that memories are an integral part of being human. They have the power to bring back pleasure, sadness or heartbreak."

He managed a smile, "And what baggage have you brought to Pemberley, Miss Bennet?"

"All of the above, I suspect."

His only response was a curt nod. "Then you should fit right into our little band of refugees." He stood abruptly, "Well, until Monday, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth felt rather pathetic as she approached the window hoping for a last glimpse of him. 'One word frees us all from the weight and pain of life: that word is love'. Sophocles obviously had never been in love. She had almost convinced herself that coming to Pemberley might ease her sorrow but she was right back where she started. He didn't know her but it didn't matter. She still loved him. She saw him skipping down the steps and unconsciously leaned her forehead against the pane following his every move committing them to the memories that had faded but not died. She continued to watch until his car was out of sight. Her desire to hear his name on her lips was overpowering and she heard her own murmur, "Oh Smithy, where are you?" She stood quietly for several moments longer before turning and coming face to face with William Collins who was standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened in shock as she stood there searching his face for any sign he had heard her plea.

He regarded her impassively for a moment before speaking. "Mr. Darcy has asked me to drive you into Lampton and introduce you to a few of the town's shopkeepers. You can pick up any supplies you need."

"I would not wish to impose, Mr. Collins."

"It would not be an imposition, Miss Bennet. I have my own errand. Lady Catherine is out of her chocolate raspberry truffles. She becomes quite cross when she runs out of her favorite treats."

Elizabeth accepted his offer with no qualms and a small amount of humor. She had successfully infiltrated the Pemberley estate under false pretenses and as a spy had failed miserably. First Lady Catherine had made an off the wall guess that she was suffering from a broken heart, now Mr. Collins had found her mooning over the master of Pemberley. If the two of them ever compared notes she might be taken out and shot at dawn.

The drive to Lampton went smoothly. She learned that she could cut about two hours off her trip back to London by heading towards Scotland for two miles, then west for another two miles before catching the southern road straight to the capital. No reference to a "Smithy" was mentioned nor was any sly intimation that a million Pounds would buy his silence. If he was interested in her personal history he didn't show it and she began to relax in his company.

In Lampton Mr. Collins proved to be a revelation. Everyone seemed to know him and he was greeted with a smile or a nod and he graciously introduced Elizabeth to many of the locals who were suitably impressed with her status as the new assistant to Mr. Darcy which made her feel only slightly ridiculous. She purchased the basic office supplies, charged them to the Pemberley account, then wandered around the small shop looking for a particular item. It didn't take her long to discover a used Remington on sale. While Mr. Collins was agreeably engaged in a chat with the proprietor she checked the bottom of the machine and located the narrow plate with the name "Pemberley" engraved. She made a mental note to bring up the subject of stolen property at the dinner table one evening. It should make for a heated discussion, one which she would enjoy immensely.

After a brief stop at the confectionery Mr. Collins invited her to tea at the local inn which she accepted gladly. He was a man of few words but quietly amiable and she hoped to garner some information from him. She got right down to it as soon as they were served.

"I understand, Mr. Collins, that you were at Pemberley when Mr. Darcy came home from the war. Had you known him before?"

"Not at all. He was only a name to me. I knew that he was a man of great wealth and he had an interest in bettering the lives of children, other than that I knew very little."

"It must have been quite a shock to hear that he had been found."

Mr. Collin's mouth loosened a trifle indicating a smile, "It would have been if we had simply heard that he was still alive. But when Richard and Charles Bingley walked into the dinning room followed by Darcy, pandemonium ensued. One of the servants screamed, another dropped the soup tureen. Caroline Bingley stood up and fainted and Lady Catherine downed a full glass of wine which was not that unusual. Naturally Richard found great amusement in the disturbance. When Charles checked his sister's pulse and pronounced that she was still alive, Richard offered his sympathy. Darcy kissed Lady Catherine's cheek, then took his seat at the head of the table for all the world as if he had never been away."

"I wasn't aware that Mr. Bingley had gone to France with Richard."

For a moment Elizabeth thought she saw a glimmer of curiosity from him as he regarded her but her question had seemed so innocuous and his look so fleeting she dismissed it out of hand. "He didn't. Charles was still at Cambridge. He graduated last May. But Charles and Darcy were such good friends, Richard wanted him to be the first to know."

"Mr. Darcy must have been happy to be home after all that time."

Here, Mr. Collins hesitated. "Happy is too strong a word. He seemed quiet and withdrawn. Mind you, I had no idea what he was like before he went to war but I did notice that his friends seemed concerned with his demeanor. Charles in particular seemed troubled." For the first time since sitting down to enjoy their tea Mr. Collins took his eyes off her and adopted his usual habit of staring off at nothing. "I will say" he added "that I was surprised to see how healthy he looked. It was not what one would expect from a man who had spent a year in a French hospital."

"We treated our patients very well and I'm sure the French did the same," Elizabeth responded lamely. Fortunately she had never supposed Mr. Collins was a fool and he was now proving it. She had a feeling that he had known something was amiss with the story of Darcy's missing year from the very beginning. She decided to change the subject of Mr. Darcy and he seemed to be willing to follow her lead.

Caroline rolled off her bed and hit the floor hard. Immediately she began to writhe in pain not sure which hurt more, her head or her hip. With difficulty she managed to turn over struggling with an encumbrance she didn't recognize. She groped for the edge of the bed and managed to pull herself up to a sitting position. Unfocused, her eyes fastened on her lap unable to understand what she was seeing. Moments passed before a hazy memory surfaced. Her eyes widened in disbelief and she staggered to her feet clutching at the buckle at her waist. Horror and anxiety made her fumble in her desperation to release the bonds of her disgrace. The belt dropped to the floor with a shattering sound loud enough to wake the dead and sure to be heard throughout the house. She groaned waiting for the inevitable. But no servant came. That could only mean one thing. She was ruined.

What had she been thinking? How could she have lost all dignity and sense? An entire night of drinking had led her to this. What would Darcy say? He'd be furious. He would fire her. And Richard and Charles? They would scorn her. The servants? She'd be a laughing stock. It was not to be endured!

She managed to reach the window and grabbed hold of the sill and stared blindly out at the bright afternoon sunlight. It was all over. She would never see Pemberley again; never walk it's hallowed halls; never dream of being it's mistress. How had she come to this complete mortification?

She turned from the glaring light and dropped into a chair. The movement was painful. It seemed that every bone in her body had been bruised. She reached for the decanter and poured another stiff drink. She had to think.

That evening William Collins placed three chocolate raspberry truffles on a saucer and placed it on the hearth and waited for the sweets to melt as he considered his next story:

Once upon a time there was a country ruled by a beneficent king. His land lay in a deep valley surrounded by high peaks of emerald green forests. The king loved all his subjects and worked hard to ensure their happiness; no man, woman or child went without shelter or food and he was careful not to impose too many laws which would impede their contentment. Several times a year he would climb the most imposing mountain to survey the surrounding kingdoms for he knew that unrest in his neighbors could quickly spread and cause much misery.

One day he noticed a small fire far away to the east. He assumed that that it wasn't dangerous and his fellow kings would put out the small flame. Still, he felt a vague alarm and began to visit the mountains more frequently. As months passed alarm turned to dismay for as he watched he saw tiny flickering flames had begun to dot the land and plumes of gray smoke hovered over the earth. He sensed an unrest in his own subjects who had relatives in the eastern lands. He tried to calm them, assuring them that no harm would come to their loved ones for surely the the other kings would never allow the flames to turn into a conflagration. Then one day to his horror the eastern lands were no longer visible for thick plumes of black smoke had obscured everything as far as the eye could see. It came to him that his own kingdom was now at risk for the words of Donne were ever constant in his mind: "No man is an island, entire of itself..."

He decided to leave his kingdom and sail far away to that distant land to offer his aid but he had waited too long. He had sailed into an inferno and was swallowed alive by the scorching heat until he knew no more. But he had not died. He simply slept until an angel found him and breathed life into him. In the months that followed he found a contentment he had never known and his kingdom lay forgotten in a thick, shadowy mist of another time.

"Willy! What's taking you so long?"

Lady Catherine's imperious voice drew him back to Pemberley and with a sigh he stirred the melted truffles and scraped them into a glass then added an ounce of gin to the mixture. He was still stirring the drink when he sat down on the edge of her bed, "I've been writing a story," he said handing her the glass.

Lady Catherine took a greedy sip then laid back on her pillows with a contented sigh. "Tell me."

"It isn't finished."

"Tell me anyway."

"It's about a king who goes to war and almost dies before a beautiful angel finds him."

"Oh, Willie," Lady Catherine sighed, "don't tell me the angel gets shot as a spy and the king turns savage."

"No, M'lady. There will be no mention of Mata Hari or Tarzan. It's a simple love story but I don't know how it ends."

"It will end happily like all good love stories must end."

"No. They are separated and he forgets her. I just haven't figured out why."

"But surely he will remember her eventually. I will not have it any other way. Perhaps she gave him a lock of her hair. That's what all true lovers do."

"Perhaps." He switched off the lamp and bid her goodnight. As he headed back to his own chambers he remembered the curious habit that Darcy had of holding a single key while caressing the key chain's disk. Perhaps not a lock of hair, he thought, but the key to her heart.


	13. ANNE

In the dimly lit room Anne DeBourgh stared intently at the pale gray eyes reflected in the mirror. If the eyes are the windows to the soul and God had etched the path of her life on her soul, surely she could see her future on this glorious, this most perfect night. It had taken her three full weeks to work up the courage to call him and suggest that they celebrate her birthday together for old time's sake. She could hear the tremor in her voice as she reminded him that they had missed the last two years and how happy she would be if they could once again share that special day. She had steeled herself against disappointment but she needn't have worried. To her utter delight he did not hesitate in acceptance. He'd even called her 'sweetheart' as he hadn't done for years. It was a good omen and she felt her pulse quicken in anticipation.

She had dressed carefully for her evening with Darcy. She wanted to impress him with her demureness and diffidence and felt she had succeeded She didn't care a fig how her stepmother thought her chances of landing Darcy as a husband was nothing short of a castle in the air, it was a dream she'd held from the moment she first laid eyes on him so many years ago. It might have started as a childhood infatuation but as she saw him grow to manhood, so tall and strong, so very handsome, she knew in her heart that there would never be another man for her. Though he had to have considered her a mere child he'd been so kind to her, treating her with respect, welcoming her into his family. How could she not love him?

When he'd gone off to war she felt her heart break. When word came of his death her life became one of utter despair. But that was all in the past and she must not think on it. Time was running out on her and she knew it. One day he would marry and that woman had to be her. Somehow she had to show him that she would be the perfect wife and mistress of Pemberley. Her only rival was Caroline Bingley and that woman's pretensions had failed miserably. That such a creature should aspire so high was laughable and not to be borne. She dressed like a demented whore, drank like a fish, and her voice reminded Anne of a cat in heat. He had to despise such a woman and could never be happy with such a creature. Elizabeth Bennet was an unknown factor. The way Richard had described her at Christmas she sounded like a paragon of virtue, but Richard always exaggerated. She had to hold fast to that. She couldn't lose Darcy now.

She needn't have worried. The evening spent with him had been magical and her hopes had soared believing that her time had finally come. He had been nothing but kindness, dismissing as unimportant that she didn't want Charles Bingley to share her birthday celebration. He allayed her fears about Georgiana's absence from their dinner due to her need to study for her exams. He complimented her for her new dress which perfectly matched her eyes and assured her that he enjoyed her company. He felt no need for an apology that she had been the one to call him and assured her that he felt remiss to have forgotten such an important date. He seemed perplexed when she begged him to choose her food from the menu and surprise her. But after a moment's hesitation he nodded, "As you wish", he said.

"You don't mind?"

"No, of course not." Had he sighed? Fear gripped her as he glanced at his watch. But then came that soft smile of familiar affection, "Shall we try the lamb?"

She nodded eagerly as her world righted itself.

Looking back she realized that she had made only one mistake. She should never have mentioned her disgust with all the veterans who were now a part of London life. But surely he could understand. It was terrifying to see so many men blind and scarred, missing limbs and brandishing their stumps like badges of honor as they struggled on their crutches. They really should hide themselves away from decent women. When she looked up from her plate he was looking past her, his face a mask. She covered as quickly as she could by adding how brave they all were and how grateful she was for their sacrifices and made a mental note not to drink so much . He looked back at her and rewarded her with a distant smile and poured her third glass of wine which she reached for and drained thirstily trying to compose herself.

The next two courses went smoothly as she built up her courage for the final hurdle. He seemed distracted which frightened her. He had a way of looking through her as if she was some kind of transparent entity that he didn't recognize. She stirred her strawberry mousse absently and watched him sip his brandy just as absently, wondering what he was thinking. She feared he wanted to end the evening. But it could not end, not just yet. She no longer hoped that this would be the evening when he would ask her to marry him. This was not the night when all her prayers would be answered.

"Will," she said in a controlled voice, "I would very much like to get out of London for a while. Would you mind awfully if I come to Pemberley for a couple of weeks? I promise not to get in your way. I just need some fresh air. Please don't say no." When he didn't answer immediately she felt despair clutch her heart and her mind splinter.

When he finally broke his silence his voice was so gentle she had to lean forward to catch his words. "Anne, Pemberley is your home. You needn't ask permission to visit there. But there's nothing for you at Pemberley. Lady Catherine is much the same as is Mr. Collins. And of course, Caroline is still Caroline. I'm afraid you'd be terribly bored there."

He hadn't mentioned his new assistant, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She wondered why? Was she so insignificant? Or worse, had she already used her arts allurements on him. She had to get to Pemberley. She leaned back in her chair trying to relax. He hadn't said no to Pemberley and to Pemberley she would go.

She turned from the mirror and stilled her thoughts of the odious Caroline Bingley and the unknown Elizabeth Bennet. She closed her eyes in concentration willing her mind to conjure up her favorite dream. It took longer than usual for thoughts of the magical evening would intrude. But then it happened. She sensed the room darkening, fading to black. She turned back to the mirror eyes still closed waiting for that perfect moment. From long practice she recognized that moment when it arrived and opened her eyes slowly, a gentle smile playing on her thin lips as she saw reflected in the mirror not the bedroom of her childhood, but a room at Pemberley. Once more she closed her eyes breathing deeply of the masculine scent that now permeated the room. When her lids lifted again he was there sitting in an armchair, his hand resting lightly on the massive bed beside him, his dark eyes alive with anticipation. He was dressed in nothing but his silk dressing gown, his long muscular legs relaxed and parted awaiting his pleasure.

She undressed slowly, never taking her eyes off him. She trembled as the gray silk slipped to the floor revealing the boyish figure so well suited for the fashion of the day. His gentle smile was her only reward. Her disappointment was keen as she had hoped to see him look goats and monkeys at her just as the old man had looked at Fanny Hill. She desired above all for his dark eyes to devour her in unbridled passion. Despite her chagrin, she felt that strange ache rise from her thighs and quickly envelope her loins in that yearning for unknown pleasure. She turned from the mirror unconsciously parting her maiden mound to entice him She wanted to see and feel that fierce erect machine just as in Fanny Hill. With a suddenness that left her reeling the light brightened but not before she glimpsed his look of revulsion. As the image of Darcy faded she fell to her knees in crippled anguish crying out his name but his form had dissolved, leaving her bereft.

When she was able to stand she returned to the mirror and once more stared at her reflection. This time she saw not her soul, but the visage of a young woman on the brink of madness.

*****

At Pemberley shortly after midnight Elizabeth gave up any pretense that she could sleep. Her arrival at Pemberley had awakened the memories she hoped would stay in the past. With practice she'd been able to keep that nightmarish night at bay but here at his home when sleep took her she lost control and almost immediately an inky darkness filled her mind followed inevitably by the icy chill of fear. It was all so familiar. Once more she sat waiting for the London bus knowing in her heart that she had lost Smithy. But still she waited unwilling to face the truth; unwilling to return to the cottage; unwilling to feel the dread of loneliness and despair she would endure in the years ahead. Miraculously his pillow appeared and she clasped it to her smelling his scent. She cried out his name but there was only silence. She awoke with a start and and felt the tears. Angrily she wiped them away. She didn't know how long she would be able to stay at Pemberley.

Restlessly she left her room unsure of her direction. She stopped at the door to his suite despair tempting her. She wanted so much to enter his inner sanctum, to touch his things to smell his scent and let masochism have it's way. She turned away once more feeling the bitter tears fill her eyes. Nearly blinded she continued down the hall. From the opposite direction a blurred form appeared which she didn't recognize. When her eyes cleared she thought possibly Anne DeBourgh had arrived. Tall, slim and dressed in a stylish tweed suit, Elizabeth stared in confusion. Shock set in when she realized that it was Caroline Bingley in her third persona. This was not the woman she had first seen wearing a ghastly shade of Chartreuse nor the châtelaine of another age. She was actually an attractive woman. They exchanged a brief look and a curt nod. There was no sign of guilt or remorse for the drunken behavior of the previous morning. There were also no alcoholic fumes in the air surrounding her. Had a truce been called? She hoped so.

She watched Caroline descend the stairs hardly understanding just what was happening. Realization didn't set in until Caroline's personal maid came running down the hall carrying two small cases and followed her mistress down the stairs. And so it ended.

The following morning the house was in full uproar. Caroline had flown the coop during the night. Short of breaking down the cellar door to get at the champaign for a real celebration the servants were moving with lighter steps and bright smiles seem to be the order of the day. Betty, who had become Elizabeth's grapevine volunteered, unprompted, that there was much speculation below stairs of why Miss Bingley had left in the dead of night. Some said she had eloped to Gretna Green with her secret lover. Others argued that she wouldn't leave while she still lusted after the master. Still others argued that she would leave if all hope was lost, that he had finally decided to marry Anne DeBourgh. Whatever, they finally concluded, it was in her own interest that she left for surely the cook would eventually have chased her out of the house with her trusty meat cleaver.

There was no mention of drunkenness as the cause for Caroline's precipitous departure and for that small mercy Elizabeth appreciated the irony. Ordinarily there would have been dozens of servants milling about but because of Caroline's cavalier treatment, the work force was seriously understaffed and overworked. There had been no witness to her lapse in good judgment. To her surprise Elizabeth found herself pitying the woman. In some ways they were much the same; each suffering from broken dreams, each unable to let go. True, Caroline's dream could in no way be considered admirable. But then again were hers? She had insinuated herself into the family under false pretensions. He had forgotten her existence and if she had any common sense she'd accept the truth and move on with her life. Caroline Bingley was a perfect example of what could happen to a life spent chasing rainbows. So many wasted years. And ending with ignoble defeat and disgrace.

Mr. Collins and to her surprise Lady Catherine who never rose before noon were both seated at the breakfast table. Lady Catherine was clearly out of sorts. Whether it was the early hour or a simple hangover Elizabeth could not discern but before she had a an opportunity to fill her plate she was addressed "Miss Bennet! No doubt you are aware of the latest misfortune to befall our happy home?"

Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes, "If you are referring to the loss of your housekeeper, it is indeed a calamitous occurrence."

Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth with suspicion, "Granted it can't compare with the San Fransisco earthquake, Miss Bennet, but losing a housekeeper is an upheaval all the same. An estate this size must have a housekeeper."

"If I'm not mistaken, you have a housekeeper, Lady Catherine. Mrs. Smyth was the assistant to Mrs. Reynolds for many years. I may be overstepping, but shouldn't she have been offered the position when Mrs. Reynolds left Pemberley?"

"Quite right, Miss Bennet," said Mr. Collins quietly. "Mrs. Smyth earned the position and she remained at Pemberley under the most difficult circumstances." He turned to Lady Catherine, "I"m sure Mrs. Smyth would consider it a great honor if you personally commended her for her faithful service and offered her the position."

Lady Catherine was obviously taken back by the suggestion. Elizabeth hurriedly added, "You are, after all, the acting mistress of this estate. The staff will look to you for direction. I'm sure that Mr. Darcy would be very pleased to see how well you can run an estate in his absence." That did it. Elizabeth could almost see the wheels turning. Lady Catherine had made a serious mistake in hiring Caroline Bingley and this would afford her the chance to rectify her reckless behavior. The opportunity to show her nephew that she was worthy of his trust to run Pemberley might in the end gain her Rosing's Park.

It was really astonishing to see the glow of enthusiasm alter Lady Catherine's usual apathy as she prattled on about the changes she would make at Pemberley. Fortunately her companion kept her fervor on a low boil deeming it unnecessary to dress the staff in costumes more suited to the court of Napoleon, nor did he find it wise to call a staff meeting. "Just speak to Mrs. Smyth, M'lady". he advised. "Rely on her judgment. Of course it will be your duty to make out the day's menu including the wines to be served with each course."

Elizabeth left them, satisfied that Lady Catherine was in sensible hands and the first crisis was over. She spent the rest of the day rifling through Darcy's desk, sorting through invitations long past due. Labels were typed and invoices filed. A new blotter, some pens and a paper weight in the form of a bird in flight, exactly like the one in her father's study, made a businesslike desk. She ordered some plants for the room and stood back and was pleased with the effect. At least he would see that she had been busy and hopefully he would notice the paper weight and ask about it.

She continued her duties by sorting through the invoices, most of which went back to the previous June...a month after Darcy had apparently returned to his estate. There were other invoices that went back to the time before he went to France and she left them to sort through later.

She was still typing labels and affixing them to files when Betty arrived with a tray of biscuits and a small carafe of coffee. It gave her the perfect excuse to stop and indulge in some gossip and her new friend was eager to cooperate. "Oh, Miss Bennet," Betty gushed, "Everyone is so happy that Miss Bingley is gone. Especially Mrs. Smyth. She never said a word against Miss Bingley but cook said she learned her trade under Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Reynolds would be very angry to see what was happening to Pemberley while the master was away. Now everything will be as it was before and we are all very grateful to you, Miss Bennet."

"What?" Elizabeth gasped. So much for idle gossip. The last thing she wanted was to diminish Lady Catherine's hope that her decision would put her into her nephew's good graces."I had nothing to do with this. It was Lady Catherine's decision."

Betty's smile faded somewhat, "But it's common knowledge that it was your suggestion."

Elizabeth was discovering to her dismay that the down-side of having so many servants at your beck and call was that any pretense of discretion was impossible to retain. Nothing was sacred and she wondered idly just what the servants had to say about her. In consternation Elizabeth stared at the young woman, "I may have mentioned that Mrs. Smyth was Mrs. Reynold's assistant, but it was Lady Catherine's decision. I had nothing to do with it and I don't want you to spread such rumors."

Betty's enthusiasm was now severely deflated, "I'm sorry, Miss Bennet, I didn't mean to overstep my place."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Betty, you have not overstepped your place wherever that may be. I'm just another employee like you. If word gets back to Mr. Darcy that I was taking credit for something I didn't do, I could lose my job." She reached out and took the girl's hand trying to soften the message. "Betty, just think what would happen if Lady Catherine heard that I was taking credit for what she had done. She would be very angry."

Betty was appalled and near to tears. "I'd better tell the cook."

Elizabeth nodded. "By all means." The cook seemed to be the ringleader at Pemberley. She doubted if the cook would have been so quick too spread rumors if Mrs. Reynolds was still here. She hoped Mrs. Smyth now would put an end to the gossip below stairs.

After Betty's chastened departure, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the files. She was curious about the amount of landscaping that was required in other parts of England. Just how far did Darcy's holdings extend? None of the invoices listed what was required but by the price charged, it had to be extensive. A small fortune had been spent in Cheshire, Staffordshire, and Herefordshire and all before he left for France. Had he actually bought up estates in those three counties? And what was he doing about them now? According to Richard he planned to restore the homes and turn them into schools. There was no trace of any activity the previous year. Was it possible that work was completed and schools had been built? Or was it more probable that the estates were once more lying fallow?

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that when the lunch bell rang she reached for the last invoice and automatically placed it in the Herefordshire file when her brain caught up with her eye and she realized she had made a mistake. She removed the invoice and stared at it in shock. It wasn't Herefordshire, but Hertfordshire. The copy was smudged, but without too much difficulty she could make out the words Netherfield Park Meryton.

Time stood still, then rolled back to a day she had taken Smithy to the grounds of Netherfield Park. She could hear her voice relating her excitement when she came home from Sussex and saw all the activity at Netherfield. She was sure the estate would once more return to it's former grandeur. How disappointed she was when her mother wrote to tell her that all work had stopped shortly after she returned to Sussex. She could hear Smithy's soft laugh when he said that someone had probably come to his senses. In retrospect, it was not quite an apt choice of words.

She felt sure that Darcy had never been to Netherfield Park or in the guise of Smithy he would have been recognized. Though after a moment she realized that in no way did Darcy resemble Smithy. Neither did the Darcy she knew resemble the Darcy that his family knew. From what she could gather the Darcy who grew up to become the Master of Pemberley was a man whose cool authority commanded automatic respect. The Darcy she knew seemed more like a country gentleman more interested in leisurely pursuits than the everyday operation of the estate. She repented her unkind thoughts immediately knowing that her own anger and frustration colored her assessment. Pemberley was like a well-oiled machine. It was the house that was in disarray.

Elizabeth entered the dinning room still digesting this new information. She was so distracted that Mr. Collins had to repeat himself.

"I said, Miss Bennet, if you have had a hard day at the office?"

Elizabeth summoned a smile not wanting to discourage him if this was an attempt at a joke. "Did I forget to wipe the sweat from my brow, Mr. Collins?"

"Miss Bennet, I hope you never utter such a word when in company of Lady Catherine. She would be appalled."

She stared at him with interest. "You are referring to sweat, Mr. Collins? I suppose Lady Catherine perspires."

"Not if she can help it, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth was able to smile in genuine amusement. William Collins was proving to be extremely affable and with a puckish sense of humor. It was no wonder that Richard had seen Darcy engaged in friendly conversation with the cleric on several occasions. "May I ask where that formidable lady is?"

"She's had an exhausting morning dealing with the housekeeper and the cook and felt the need for some bed rest to recover."

"And how did the housekeeper and the cook fare?"

"Mrs. Smyth learned the art of diplomacy from Mrs. Reynolds and the cook looked rather smug when I saw her last."

"Oh dear. How long do you suppose Lady Catherine will feel the need to rest."

"Until the cocktail hour."

Elizabeth laughed softlt, "She's very lucky to have you as a friend."

"Our friendship works both ways, Miss Bennet. We filled each other's needs. Lady Catherine was born into a respected family of wealth. She wanted nothing, yet she was unable to find happiness or even contentment in a life that would be the envy of most people. She came to believe that she had been born in the wrong century. Once she learned that Rosing's Park had once belonged to the family she became obsessed with the estate, determined to own it and take her place as it's mistress. Naturally this made little sense to rational people and her family dismissed her as an eccentric. I've heard stranger tales in my fifteen years of ministry. I remember a young man who confessed that he thought he'd be born in the wrong body. He was convinced that he was really a woman in a man's body. We know very little of how the mind works, Miss Bennet, and I am the last person in the world to dismiss such beliefs out of hand. I sometimes fancy that I would have been happier if I'd been born in Rome two thousand years ago. Naturally I would have been a great orator and not a slave.

Naturally," Elizabeth said with a smile. "But, some people don't wish to go back so far in time. I remember a conversation with Jane Postlewaite. She longed for her last summer at Pemberley. Muslins and parasols dotting wide green lawns. It's a memory she holds close. She often wonders if she will ever be that happy again."

Mr. Collins nodded in understanding. "And there are some people who await something in the future that will bring them everlasting happiness. Until that occurs they will never be content."

And was that what she had in store for herself? Was she destined to live a life of misery unless Darcy remembered her?

After lunch Elizabeth spent a tranquil afternoon in the massive Pemberley library. There were thousands of books reaching back through time to the seventeenth century and beyond. Memoirs written by past mistresses had a large section and Elizabeth planned to set aside an afternoon and read a few of them. The various masters of the estate obviously had been fascinated by maps and there were hundreds of them to prove her point. The variety of information in the room spoke volumes of the kind of men who had kept the estate running for more than two hundred years. Finally, Elizabeth chose an over-sized chair and snuggled down in it's soft depths with a book of poetry hoping to distract herself but in the end found it impossible to concentrate on the words of Robert Service. There was no doubt that here he would find quiet repose surrounded by the books he loved. She was overwhelmed with sadness for him. She was also beginning to feel guilty. He had a right to know the part she had played in his past. It would fill in the blanks of at least part of what had happened to him. But would he thank her for not disclosing this information the moment she met him in London? She feared she had waited too long. He would never forgive her. She was even contemplating an anonymous letter telling him to inquire at the Tynebridge asylum. But that would raise more questions than answers. Just thinking of the mess she had created gave her a headache and she returned to her room and poured a small brandy. She'd come to Pemberley to see Smithy or at the very least his alter ego, Darcy, but she'd seen precious little of either man. And no one seemed to know if or when he'd return. She imagined him wining and dining Anne DeBourgh while the besotted girl giggled and batted her eyelashes in an attempt to seduce him. What man could resist her charms? It was all so hopeless.

When the bell for cocktails rang Elizabeth descended the stairs with little enthusiasm.

Bolstered by brandy she plastered a bright smile on her face and entered the drawing room. She had no fear of Mr. Collins picking up on her mood and making a comment but Lady Catherine knew no restraint and Elizabeth was in no mood for finesse. Her smile had been a waste of time. Lady Catherine was nowhere to be seen.

"Lady Catherine will be joining us in a while," Mr. Collins informed her as he handed her a sherry. "She was on the phone."

Elizabeth took a large sip of an excellent Amontillado and wondered how long it would take to wall up a rival and how much mortar would be required. "Probably Mr. Darcy calling to announce his engagement to Miss DeBourg." She hoped he hadn't heard the liquor inspired snarl in her voice.

For the first time since making his acquaintance, the little vicar looked befuddled. "I beg your pardon?"

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Any response Mr. Collins might have responded to her inanity was delayed by the entrance of Lady Catherine in full throttle and voice. "I am furious, distracted and dismayed! I've received a call from my odious step-daughter who was positively gloating. Apparently she had a romantic dinner with my nephew last night and he's invited her to Pemberley so they can get better acquainted."

Mr. Collins signaled the butler who immediately left the room though Elizabeth suspected that it was a bit late for discretion. Rumors of a forthcoming wedding would soon be the grist for the rumor mill. She felt sick.

"Calm yourself, M'Lady," he said, handing her a stiff drink.

"I will not calm myself, Willie. You don't know that girl the way I do. She's positively demented and capable of anything. She sits around like a little gray mouse, doing her handwork like a perfect little machine working on her hope chest. Do you know what I found in her hope chest? I found The Memoirs of a Passionate Woman, that's what I found."

Elizabeth choked on her drink, "I thought that book had been banned from England."

"Not from a collector of curiosa which my late unlamented husband was," Lady Catherine responded in disgust. "She was eight years old and reading Fanny Hill! I tried to take the book from her and she grabbed a pair of shears. I thought she would kill me. Can you imagine? Eight years old!" Lady Catherine downed her drink and handed her glass to Mr. Collins. "That's when I washed my hands of her and sent her off to Pemberley. I couldn't control her. She was willful and disobedient and clearly had a taste for pornography." She fell back against the cushions, "No one knows what I suffer," she moaned.

Half-way through her second sherry, Elizabeth laughed out loud. "The whole house knows what you suffer, Lady Catherine."

Lady Catherine allowed a thin smile, "If my nephew connects with Anne he will eventually have to lock her in the tower for she is as mad as a hatter."

Elizabeth responded cleverly, "I'm sure he can hire a good nurse for her. Grace Poole perhaps?"

"There are no towers at Pembeley", said Mr. Collins with such a pensive look on his face that both women laughed.

Lady Catherine exchanged a wry smile with Elizabeth, "I'm afraid the good vicar does not include Gothic novels in his reading material."

It was all very enlightening, and amusing as well, this picture of an eight year old and her forbidden reading material. She and Lady Catherine were both a bit tipsy but Elizabeth now registered a look of fright in Lady Catherine's eyes which gave her pause. Surely Anne was no longer the recalcitrant child she remembered. Children grow up. She imagined Anne DeBourgh was a sensible young lady, perhaps beautiful. Elizabeth suspected her time at Pemberley was coming to an end after just a few days. She knew she would be unable to stay if Darcy returned to Pemberley as an engaged man. She allowed the vicar to pour her third glass of sherry.


	14. GUESTS ARRIVE

Elizabeth awoke with a hangover that matched in every way the hangover she had suffered on Armistice day fifteen months earlier. On that remembered day she had picked up a stranger which led to her falling in love, getting seduced, and eventually getting abandoned. She just couldn't wait to see what fate had in store for her today with a demented gray mouse heading her way. The mixture of brandy, sherry, and wine had been a combustible combination and the previous evening was just a blur though flashes of Edward Rochester and his wife, Anne DeBourgh, howling at the moon from one of the towers at Pemberley seemed to be part of it. Her low spirits of that day also matched perfectly with how she felt now that she had convinced herself that all she was doing was prolonging the agony. Before meeting with Darcy at his London home she had begun to heal and get on with her life. Now she was living in paradise but her prince charming didn't know who she was. It was a French farce and she was acting the buffoon.

She staggered into the bathroom and applied cold compresses to her fevered brow in an attempt to clear her mind so she could reason her way though her dilemma. She couldn't help thinking that this whole charade had been an exercise in futility. It simply wasn't going to work. There were too many distractions and not enough time spent with Darcy. She had no idea just how many lovelorn females were planning to drop in for a visit. Once Caroline left she had hoped to see more of Darcy. Now she was going to have to contend with Anne DeBourgh. And just what kind of a woman was she? Was she her own enemy as Caroline was? Elizabeth found it difficult to reconcile Charlotte's description of Anne as a hero-worshiping woman who had a crush on Darcy with Lady Catherine's description of a homicidal maniac. Granted, Lady Catherine had a propensity for melodrama and occasionally distorted the truth but a murderous step-daughter was taking it a step too far even for her. She could only imagine that Lady Catherine's antipathy towards Anne stemmed from Anne's penchant for curiosa. She herself had been granted access to the upper shelves of her father's library at the age of fourteen and any questions about the content of some of the books were given freely and without embarrassment. Lady Catherine had been born in another age when ignorance was bliss.

Since she didn't have any work to do, she had decided to spend a couple of hours walking about the estate. With no one to impress with her womanly charms she chose to wear slacks and an over-sized fisherman's jersey for her hike. A glance in the mirror told her she had succeeded in disguising her sex. Breasts, waist and bottom had disappeared. She looked like a waif. Lydia would have swooned and that thought made Elizabeth smile. It was Lydia's contention that the minute a woman stops trying to look her best on all occasions, she's on the fast track to spinsterhood.

Lady Catherine was in the breakfast room which surprised Elizabeth but the surprise was mutual. She was regarded with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Very attractive, dear. Is that the latest haute couture?"

Elizabeth deigned not to respond but dropped into a chair and poured a cup of coffee. "Is Mr. Collins not dining with us this morning?"

"He dines with the local vicar on Mondays. Then they look for good used clothes and books for their flocks."

"You're lucky to have such a good friend."

"We were both lucky to meet when we did. He didn't dismiss me as a pathetic old fool and I saw in him something more than a village cleric on the lowest rung of his profession. I'm not sure what he sees in me but I find him clever and amusing." She stopped for a sip of coffee before leveling a devilish grin at Elizabeth, "He also tells a rollicking good bedtime story."

Elizabeth laughed out loud in surprise, "He tells you bedtime stories?"

"Nonsense tales."

"Sorry. I'm not familiar with the genre."

"Oh, the king sails out to see the world in his leaky rowboat, sinks and is washed up on a deserted island. He turns savage and when he's finally rescued they won't let him back into England until he learns not to eat grubs at the dinner table. Or the king sails off to war and meets Mata Hari. They fall madly in love and when she's executed as a spy he loses his mind and they won't let him back into England until he takes sanity classes. Nonsense tales."

"His kings seem to be rather stupid and misguided," Elizabeth allowed, still grinning. "I take it that Mr. Collins is not a royalist?"

"I have no idea. Politics are my least favorite subject. But I do know he thinks the royals should do more for their subjects. Especially for the children. His greatest joy is reading the classics to children and seeing their enthusiasm and clear desire to learn."

"And now he makes up stories for your amusement. Perhaps he should write nonsense tales for children."

"I've suggested that. He has a creative mind. His latest fable is about a king who almost dies in the war but an angel saves him and takes him to her home on cloud nine. They fall madly in love and he forgets his earthly home until he wanders off one day and falls off the cloud. When he wakes up he has no memory of the time he spent with an angel. She follows him to earth unable to forget him. Of course she doesn't forget him. Woman never forget. Not my favorite story. Robert died in the first Boer war more than forty years ago. It was supposed to be just a small conflict, but he died just the same. Broke my heart. I still think of him. No, woman don't forget. Stupid story. Not my favorite. Nonsense tales!" She added dismissively.

Elizabeth was transfixed in stunned disbelief. With bated breath she waited for a knowing glance or a wink but Lady Catherine was done with the subject and had turned her attention to the day's menu.

Elizabeth left the house in a bemused state of mind. The good vicar had been meticulously putting the puzzle together. And the clues? He was a kind and decent man and a student of the human condition. Not a village in England had been left untouched by the evils of war. Surely he had seen many veterans fresh from a hospital. To see a tanned and healthy man who'd spent a year in a hospital walk into the room announced as the missing master of Pemberley must have piqued his interest. Instead of indulging in idle speculation, he'd remained silent but had amused himself and Lady Catherine by creating fables to account for the year Darcy went missing. In his clever mind the question would naturally arise that if Darcy's body was healthy, then why the subterfuge? Only one answer would come to the mind of an intelligent man, especially a man of the cloth who dealt with the ills of men. Mental problems were feared. Children damaged at birth were too often hidden away in an attic rather then let society know there was insanity in the family. Was Darcy mad? After several conversations with that man, Mr. Collins would have to conclude that he was not. Then what? Then he would focus on the curious habit that Darcy had of holding the key ring and it's precious key. Elizabeth had recognized the reflective look on Darcy's face as he searched for the door that would open to his memory of a lost year in his life. Mr. Collins had the opportunity to study Darcy for several months and he too would eventually come to understand that part of the puzzle. Hence, an angel had found him. But he fell off the cloud and forgot her. How very romantic, Mr. Collins. Now all she had to worry about was if Mr. Collins could see her wings.

She headed out to the forest following a creek until she came to the rich farmland which provided the wealth of Pemberley. She circled around and walked a further half mile before clambering up a steep rise and looked down and found what she had been looking for in a small vale which ended at the arc of the creek. Below her stood the shell of an unfinished building which she surmised was the school which was started before Darcy went to France. Once again she was overwhelmed with sadness but this time it was mixed with anger that he had given up. Did he plan to spend the rest of his life in mourning what couldn't be helped? This was not the man she had known in Hertfordshire. She felt a keen disappointment as she turned away wondering who Darcy was? He bore no resemblance to the man she had fallen in love with. With the rising mist her sense of foreboding increased. Smithy had no history, no sense of self. In many ways he was new born. Even if the man she knew as Darcy eventually remembered her, she was coming to understand that she might never again see Smithy.

It was all too depressing. She had reached the point where she was seriously thinking of talking to her father. The only problem with that was the possibility that he would tell her what she didn't want to hear.

She was startled from her thoughts by the high pitch of a shepherd's whistle and almost simultaneously a collie flew by, ears laid back, followed by a young man who doffed his cap politely and continued on at a leisurely pace. An eighth of a mile away on a low rise a handful of sheep stood waiting patiently for their orders which the collie was delighted to deliver with canine enthusiasm. Elizabeth straddled a log and relaxed, watching the bucolic entertainment until she felt the first taste of rain.

Without much enthusiasm, she started back to Pemberley. She'd come here to help him remember what he'd lost but was finding it a difficult task. She hadn't spent more than an hour in his company and now he was in Town probably making sweet talk to Anne DeBourgh. She didn't for a minute believe Lady Catherine's description of that young woman. Not that it mattered. She was already jealous of Anne DeBourgh. She followed the creek back but her return turned out to be rather tricky as she tried to avoid the slippery rocks and the mud muddles. By then the rain had turned into a torrent. It took her an hour to get back to the house and by that time she was soaked to the skin. However, when she spotted Darcy's car her spirits lifted considerably until she saw an unknown car parked near his. Anne DeBourgh had apparently arrived. Perfect! She was about to meet her rival looking like a drowned rat.

Betty dashed down the steps carrying a towel and an open umbrella, "We were getting worried about you, Miss Bennet. We thought you'd gotten lost."

"I'm a country girl, Betty. But thank you. Now if you'll draw me a bath I'd be eternally grateful."

In the anti-room Elizabeth dried her face and tried to make sense of her unruly curls but gave it up as hopeless. She just hoped she wouldn't meet anyone on the way to her room.

*****

Charles Bingley had gone to ground for the past two weeks. His instructions to his servants were clear and concise. He was in Cornwall and they weren't sure when he would return. He was not available to anyone and that included his best friend Will Darcy and especially his sister Caroline.

For the first week of his self-imposed exile from the world he stayed in his room fluctuating between disappointment and outrage, wondering where it had all gone wrong. He'd been seriously courting Anne DeBourgh for the past three years. There had been summers boating on the Thames and concerts in the park; flowers sent to her twice a week, and to his everlasting shame, he'd even sent her a love poem. His entire world knew he was smitten for in truth, he had worn his heart on his sleeve. When Darcy had gone missing he had cooled his ardor out of respect for her grief but in every other way he had lent her comfort trying to ease the pain of loss they both shared. He'd spent hours with Anne, listening to her memories of how kind Darcy had been, how he often teased her and ruffled her hair, how all the girls were mad for him but he had never succumbed to their overt attempts to seduce him. He was above all that. He was a saint. Charles knew that the Darcy he had known was a good man but certainly not a saint but he didn't argue with her. He knew how the living tended to deify the dead.

Her tears were terrible to see and he'd felt helpless in the face of so much bereavement especially when over the course of a year, it showed no sign of lessoning. He himself still mourned the loss of his friend but the intense pain had eventually eased to a dull ache of regret as it had when his parents had died. Life went on as it must. Thoughts of Queen Victoria mourning the loss of Prince Albert for forty years would occasionally intrude but still, he'd held on hoping that time would heal her.

When Darcy rose from the dead her transformation had been miraculous. Gone were the incessant tears. Only joy was her constant companion. Her new found happiness appeared to him at times to be almost a form of hysteria but he made excuses for her trying to understand how fragile she was after such a roller coaster ride of emotions which had besieged everyone who knew Darcy. Even he at times found it hard to remember that Darcy was just a phone call away and not moldering away in some French grave. When she began to turn down his invitations with one excuse after another he still rationalized her actions for loving her had become a habit he couldn't break. All she needed was time and he was willing to give it to her.

But time, he had learned, had a way of altering one's perception. Whether he had grown weary of a courtship that had gone on too long or her tears no longer had the power to move him, he could not say, but he'd begun to feel a sense of relief that his courtship was coming to an end. Looking back he realized that she had never shown an eagerness for his company but he had attributed it to her natural reserve. She had never allowed a kiss but he attributed this to natural shyness. Still, old habits die hard and uneasily he had called her again two weeks before her birthday fully expecting her to refuse with another lame excuse. He was prepared for it. What he wasn't prepared for was the excuse she offered. Nor had she softened the blow when she told him that she wouldn't be seeing him anymore, that she would be announcing her engagement shortly. A cold fish was how Charlotte Postlewaite had often described Anne though he hadn't seen that aspect of her personality until that shocking response to his invitation.

Never once had he suspected that she had another suitor. When had she had the time? Who was he? And how long had it been going on? These were all questions that flooded his brain, none of which he was capable of voicing.

Well into the second week of his confinement, disappointment for all the years he had wasted turned to outrage for all the years he had wasted. He'd been suffering in silence for nearly two weeks unwilling to leave the house or take any calls for fear of the kindly meant condolences they would offer. He was quite sure the news that he had been jilted by Anne DeBourgh was the topic of conversation at every breakfast table in Town. Of course he knew he was being irrational. He was a nobody on the lower rung of society. Nevertheless, he felt humiliated and betrayed and was convinced he would never recover his usual high spirits.

At the end of two weeks he bathed, allowed his valet to groom him, gave instructions that he was now home, and descended the stairs to enjoy a fine breakfast. It had come to his mind that he was not yet twenty four years of age, had all his teeth and wasn't bad looking. He was an educated gentleman and was in possession of a handsome income. Surely there was a perfect woman waiting for him somewhere, some place. Not that he had any intention of getting mixed up with another female for at least a year or two. He'd mourned the loss of Anne for two weeks and when you considered that she had never even allowed a kiss on the cheek two weeks was more than she deserved.

While he was planning his future he was interrupted by a phone call from Darcy who automatically inquired after his health and didn't really wait for an answer. Darcy was the kindest man he knew and Charles fully expected to receive some words of consolation from his best friend. He had to know of Anne's forthcoming marriage but not one word of comfort was forthcoming. Only an invitation to Pemberley which Bingley accepted with alacrity. The chance to get out of Town and out in the country was just what the doctor ordered. What surprised him was that Darcy wanted him to come to Pemberley that very day. "What's the rush?" he'd asked.

There was an unusual hesitation from his friend before he said something that gave Bingley the first laugh he'd enjoyed in weeks. "I need a chaperon, Bingley." Naturally Bingley wanted an explanation and naturally Darcy said he would explain his predicament when he got to Pemberley.

As Bingley shouted orders to pack his bags, he was quite sure that he didn't need an explanation. He had come to realize that there was at least one trait he shared with his sister. They both had pursued a romantic fantasy much too long when there really had never been any hope. Caroline had been making a fool of herself for years. But Darcy had always been able to handle her with diplomacy. So why of a sudden did he need a chaperon?

He was still an hour from Pemberley before he remembered Darcy's new assistant. "Ah ha!" he shouted. According to Richard, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a stunner. He couldn't help himself. He had to grin with malicious delight at the thought of Caroline turning orange in a fit of apoplexy. At least orange would match the color of one her more outlandish dresses. It would serve her right after the miserable way she had treated him all his life.

By the time he reached Lambton, Bingley had another thought. Could Miss Bennet be the source of Darcy's discomfort? He was after all, a handsome man and wealthy beyond most woman's dreams. Had she set her cap for Darcy? If so, this visit should be a great deal of fun. Visions of Darcy running all over the estate from two oversexed females made him laugh so hard he came close to running off the road. Added to his enjoyment was the possibility that Richard was at Pemberley. It was he who had encouraged Darcy to hire Miss Bennet. Darcy would be furious with his cousin, might even call him out. Bingley's vivid imagination and sense of fun had gone into overdrive. By the time he parked his car at Pemberley he was in high spirits. And Anne DeBourgh was all but forgotten.

When the assistant housekeeper, Mrs. Smythe, escorted him to his usual room he suppressed a smile. His sister's not so subtle attempt to insult him by sending her assistant had missed the mark. In fact, it was a relief not to have to deal with Caroline's snide remarks. She'd been calling the house three times a day for the past two days. He knew she must be furious that he'd had the audacity to leave the city without informing her or leave a number where she could reach him and that suited him just fine. He'd had it with women who treated him with contempt.

After a quick wash up he left his room and immediately ran into Darcy at the upper landing. The two old friends chatted amiably as they descended the stairs. and both stopped abruptly as an apparition appeared below them in the foyer. Charles's jaw dropped staring at a waif wearing a very wet jersey which had stretched to her knees. But what really caught his attention was the mass of wet curls falling around her beautiful wet face. She looked almost savage. And delicious. He glanced with uncertainty at his companion. Darcy was eying her in wide-eyed surprise. "Is that you, Miss Bennet? Have you been for a swim in the lake?"

"Certainly not," she snapped. "I went for a walk."

"A perfect day for it. And did you enjoy your walk, Miss Bennet?"

"Thoroughly, Mr. Darcy. And thank you for asking."

As she squished past them and headed up the stairs, Charles watched Darcy watching her ascent. He had known this man for many years and had seen his reaction to many females but this was something new. "You're smoldering, Darcy."

"Hmm?"

"You might have introduced me to the water nymph."

"Oh. Didn't I?"

"I think I'm in love."

That got Darcy's attention. He turned to Bingley with a frown, "What?"

"You didn't tell me she was so beautiful."

"I didn't notice. She's very clever. Makes a nice change."

"Clever in a beautiful package. Hard to beat that combination."

"Forget it, Charles. She made minced meat of your sister. You'd never survive her wit."

"But you could?"

"I won't dignify that remark with an answer."

"Speaking of my sister, is she still trying to lure you into her sticky web?"

"You didn't know? She's no longer an employee. She quit without a word and left here in the middle of the night."

Charles followed Darcy into the billiard room, "Why on earth did she do that?"

"I fear that her fondness for my wine cellar did her in. According to my spy, she had imbibed too freely that morning and nearly toppled down the stairs." He handed Charles a glass of wine, "Fortunately, Miss Elizabeth Bennet caught her in time and got her safely to her room. Apparently she sobered up and left that night."

"I can see why. Knowing the entire household had witnessed her disgrace, she wouldn't have any choice. Poor Caroline."

Darcy eyed his friend in amusement, "Sympathy for your sister? I'm all astonishment. But not to worry, Charles. Apparently, Miss Bennet is the soul of discretion. Naturally, my spy is also the soul of discretion. If my aunt knew of the incident she would have been delighted to discuss it at length. So, Caroline's reputation is still intact though I must admit the atmosphere has lightened considerably."

Bingley sat quietly digesting this information. So Caroline was out of the picture. Charles scratched his head in confusion. If Darcy didn't need protection from the arts and allurements of Caroline, then who was he worried about? Darcy certainly didn't need a chaperon to save him from Elizabeth Bennet. Quite the reverse, he thought. There had been no fluttering eyelashes from that young woman. In fact the only emotion she'd shown was embarrassment and annoyance. Darcy, on the other hand, hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her.

He'd been worried about his friend wondering when if ever Darcy would get back to normal. He'd spent too much time thinking of the past when he had the rest of his life to think of the future. Darcy was a dear friend and he wanted him to be happy. In Bingley's mind happiness came in the form of a woman which unhappily reminded him of Anne DeBourgh. Darcy still had not offered one word of condolence, nor was there any mention of Anne DeBourgh's forthcoming nuptials and Bingley was loathe to bring the subject up at the moment. Besides, Darcy really had never encouraged him in his pursuit. Actually, he had made several subtle hints that Jane Postlewaite might suit him better. Perhaps he should call Jane next week. Discussion would come that night when two old friends would continue their ritual of brandy in the library when the house had grown still. One thing was for sure. The next time he imagined himself to be in love there would be no love poems.

*****

Lady Catherine and the Reverend Collins were the first to enter the drawing room for the cocktail hour. Lady Catherine was in an excellent mood. Anne DeBourgh had not arrived as she had feared and it was now so dark there was little chance that she would. Next came Darcy and Charles Bingley. The younger man immediately approached Lady Catherine who graciously offered her hand which he took with a smile, bestowing a kiss. She granted him a smile of appreciation for his gentlemanly behavior and the evening was off to a comfortable start.

When Elizabeth Bennet entered the room wearing a lemon hued gown fashioned in the empire style with it's high waist and deep décolletage he was reminded of the portrait on the first landing. There was just such a woman sitting on a stone bench as her lover stood by in admiration. Mr. Collins had never seen a more beautiful woman. He suspected that the comfortable start of the evening was about to take a little turn as Bingley tripped over his feet as he rushed towards the young woman. Beside him, he heard Lady Catherine chuckle and nudge him. He followed her eyes to the window where Darcy was frowning at the spectacle.

Whether he had never met the woman who could incite a desire to copulate or the thought of his own parents working up a sweat in the back bedroom of the parsonage had killed his appetite for carnal pleasure, Mr. Collins had no way of knowing. He didn't miss what he'd never had but did admit to a certain pleasure in watching the ritual of courtship. Bingley was acting like an hyperactive schoolboy in his attempt to ooze charm and bonhomie while Elizabeth was eying him with a faint smile which seemed to Mr. Collins to be verging on a giggle. Darcy had turned his back on the comical scene and was staring into the darkness, missing all the fun.

The fun didn't last, however, as an abrupt obscenity by Lady Catherine followed by a groan signaled the arrival of another guest. Anne DeBourgh walked in, stood posing in the doorway for a brief moment, then made straight for Darcy. "I had a puncture in Lambton," she cried. "Forgive me for being so late."

As she crossed the room the heavy scent of musk followed in her wake. The Reverend was surprised to see Anne clutch Darcy's arm the way he had seen Caroline Bingley do so many times. Anne was usually so restrained and shy. What could she mean by it? She obviously had neglected to notice Darcy's ill-concealed distaste to be so handled. Mr. Collins thought she had just made a mistake.

A gasp from Bingley drew his eyes to that young man. He had turned from Elizabeth to stare at Anne in shock and horror. The last he'd heard, young Mr. Bingley was thoroughly smitten with Miss DeBourgh and though the general consensus had it that she was indifferent to his charms surely it didn't call for such a reaction. Darcy headed towards Elizabeth with Anne still clinging to him. He looked uncomfortable and resigned. He introduced the two ladies to each other then quipped to Charles, "I think you know Anne."

"Not as well as I thought I did." Charles replied before he turned on his heel and walked away.

Darcy tried to follow his friend but Anne had a death grip on his arm. "Oh, leave him be, Will. He's just sulking."

"Charles sulking? Impossible. It isn't in his nature. I've seen him provoked to anger on rare occasions and always with good cause. What have you done?"

He was smiling as he queried her but Anne's anger was instant. Her face paled and she released his arm, "I never gave him any reason to believe that I would marry him. What would I do with such a child? I want a real man!" She too turned on her heel and stalked off.

Oh the drama! It didn't get better than this. Mr. Collins was already writing his next nonsense tale when the door opened and Richard Fitzwilliam entered with his usual panache. He stopped abruptly to digest this tableau vivant. Elizabeth Bennet's beauty was breathtaking as expected, Darcy looked to be in his usual state of confusion; Anne and Bingley were glaring at each other, and his aunt was scowling into her empty glass. Mr. Collins seemed to be enjoying a secret joke.

"What a jolly party," he cried. So glad I could make it."

Darcy ignored his cousin. He turned to Elizabeth, "You smell of wildflowers, Miss Bennet. My friend called you a water nymph but I think you live in the woods."

She smiled at his fancy, "It's called Summer Breeze. Do you like it?"

"I think I like everything about you, Miss Bennet. I'm particularly pleased with what you've done to my office."

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. As compliments go, it wasn't bad. One thing was clear. He was not enamored of Anne DeBourgh and neither was Charles Bingley. She thought perhaps that she would stay at Pemberley for a little bit longer.


	15. DINNER

When the dinner bell rang Anne decided to forgive Darcy for intimating that she had been the source of trouble with Bingley. She had lost her temper and that was unacceptable if she was to convince him that she was the woman who would make the best mistress of Pemberley. Let Elizabeth Bennet display her breasts so blatantly. It would do no good. Darcy wasn't like other men. He was a saint and above lusting after an employee. She made straight for him but Richard was too quick. He stepped in front of her and offered his arm like the devil he was. He was positively wicked and she shuddered to think of what he did for amusement. The look she leveled at him might have given most men pause, but Richard was made of sterner stuff, "Don't waste your witchcraft of me, little mouse. It won't work. He isn't for you." He took her arm and pulled her close, forcing her to fall in step with him. She tried to wrench free but he wasn't having it. "You will behave yourself and pretend you are a lady."

"I am a lady!" she spat.

"You could have fooled me."

"I hate you!"

"There's a thin line between love and hate, munchkin."

"You think you're so clever!"

"I am clever. You might have fooled Charles into believing you're a sweet young thing but I know better. He's too much of a docile soul for you. As for Darcy, you could never be happy living at Pemberley. You're for Paris and Rome; for Spain and Constantinople."

"If you don't let me go, I'll make a scene."

"You already have. You've drawn the attention of the entire room"

Across the room Elizabeth watched their danse macabre with fascination. From a distance it seemed that Anne and Richard were locked in an embrace that was pleasing to neither of them. There was passion but she couldn't imagine Richard with his intense love of life attaching himself to such a woman. Lady Catherine called her step-daughter the gray mouse and the description was apt. She was such a tiny, colorless creature with the body of a prepubescent child. Her choice of color and style did nothing to minimize the image she projected. She glanced at Bingley who was pouting at no one in particular.

Absently, she turned and saw that Darcy was also focused on Richard and Anne and didn't seem pleased with what he saw. When he finally turned his attention back to her, he regarded her with a remote smile, "Richard is very charming," he said, "but I suppose you know that, Miss Bennet."

She blinked in surprise. Surely he didn't think she was interested in Richard? "He's very charming" she replied. "The nurses were all atwitter at Sussex. I feared that we might have multiple weddings with six giggly damsels and one feckless captain. He's charming, but" she added with a smile, "a danger to himself. He may get himself into trouble one day and his charm will do him no good." She shrugged dismissively and changed the subject, "Now Anne DeBourgh, on the other hand, would make a more interesting subject I think As a matter of fact I find all your friends interesting."

"Interesting in what way?"

"Mr. Bingley has a boyish charm which I find engaging. Your aunt has a piquant wit which I find refreshing. And Mr. Collins creates nonsense tales in an attempt to examine what he doesn't understand."

"You're very observant, Miss Bennet. And how would you describe me?"

"At the moment you are too complex to decipher. By the condition of your office before I did some housekeeping, I'd say you are a sloppy thinker. On the other hand you may be a great thinker full of great thoughts and can't be bothered with the trivia of details. Only time will tell."

Elizabeth held her breath half expecting to receive an icy glare for her audacity. Instead a slow smile worked it's way to his eyes, "You too have a piquant wit and an engaging manner, Miss Bennet. And though I'm not familiar with nonsense tales, I do have plans to examine what I don't understand."

'What don't you understand, Mr. Darcy?"

"I would like to know why I've been so fortunate to have you here at Pemberley. With your fastidious attention to trivial details and my great mind we should be a formidable team."

"Formidable only if we have a job to do. And I am still waiting for direction."

"I was giving you time to acquaint you with the estate but if you are ready to go to work will tomorrow be too soon?"

"That would be wonderful. After all," she added with a prim smile, "idle hands are the devil's tools."

Her response brought another soft smile from him and for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of Smithy, but it faded all too quickly, "Take my arm, Miss Bennet," he said softly, "My guests are waiting impatiently for us to lead the way."

She obeyed and as they passed Richard and Anne she was startled to see a glint of amusement and one of murderous rage directed at each other. Darcy beckoned to Bingley, "Charles, come and assist me. Miss Bennet is worthy of two escorts." With a smug smile at Anne, Bingley happily obliged. Elizabeth felt sure that Darcy was sending a message. She just wasn't sure whether the intended receiver was Richard, Anne, or herself. She was just happy to be touching him and enjoying his smiles and good humor. Now if he just stayed at Pemberley. If she could just spend some time with him. She could no longer remember a time when her life wasn't filled with ifs.

Lady Catherine had ignored protocol and she and Mr. Collins were seated in their usual places in the middle of the table when the rest of the party entered the dining room. Darcy made sure that Elizabeth and Bingley were seated on either side of him before he took his seat. Richard tried to seat Anne across from Lady Catherine but she had her way and took the seat at the end of the table opposite Darcy. She threw Richard a sour and triumphant look as soup was served.

There was little conversation as they each sipped their carmelized onion soup. Bingley was once more pouting, Anne was attending her soup with a sullen eye, Richard's smile seemed more like a smirk, and Darcy couldn't decide whether to frown at Bingley or Richard. Elizabeth felt a wait and watch attitude had descended on the table. She was sure that Lady Catherine would not let the chance go by of baiting her step-daughter. Elizabeth just hoped she wouldn't be a part of it. She didn't trust Lady Catherine's piquant wit.

During the fish course, Lady Catherine addressed Elizabeth, "Did I tell you, Miss Bennet, how much I admired your walking ensemble this morning?"

With a forkful of fish halfway to her mouth, Elizabeth turned to Lady Catherine in shock. She glanced at Darcy hoping he wasn't paying attention. Alas, it was not to be. Both he and Bingley lowered their forks and stared at her with interest. Mindful that both men had seen her looking less than admirable that morning,

she felt a flush begin at her bosom, encircle her neck, and finally settle on her face. If it rose any further her hair would be on fire. "I believe haute couture were your exact words, Lady Catherine."

"Ah, yes. Now I remember. You must be a devotee of fashion gazettes to look so stylish so early in the morning."

It seemed like harmless fun so Elizabeth responded in kind, "I never leave home without my fashion gazettes. I have a large valise full of them." There was a snort from Richard and she favored him with a warning glare.

Lady Catherine continued, "But here you are again, dressed in such a quaintly old-fashioned dress. You might have stepped out of the portrait on the first landing. She was the beloved wife of another Darcy and I believe her name was Elizabeth too. Isn't that remarkable?"

"You surprise me," said Miss DeBourgh. "As a nurse how did you have time to read fashion gazettes?"

Startled by the stupidity of the question, Elizabeth replied tartly, "I'm sure that Richard could answer that better than I can."

"Indeed I can" Richard responded with his usual alacrity when fun was afoot. "The answer will no doubt shock you. We had to fend for ourselves. Once Miss Bennet started reading one of her fashion gazettes there was no reaching her. Sad, very sad."

"How terrible for our heroes."

Elizabeth managed to refrain from rolling her eyes and glanced at Charles Bingley who was staring at Anne in slack-jawed disbelief. Lady Catherine was smiling in gloating satisfaction. Elizabeth didn't dare look at Darcy for fear she would come undone. It was all too preposterous.

They were well into their third course before Anne spoke again "Now that my step-mother has brought the subject up, I must say that your costume is most interesting, Miss Bennet. I have heard there are a couple of shops in Town that sell hand-me-downs from theatrical productions. I have heard that you can buy them on the cheap. To own the truth I remember seeing a revival of Paul Pry a couple of years ago. The woman who sang Cherry Ripe was wearing a costume identical to yours."

It had cost a small fortune for the dress and to have it called a costume with such disdain and by this chit of a girl was going too far. "I'm not familiar with such a shop. But I'm sure that if you can see beyond the sawdust and cobwebs, you might find a bargain."

"It must be difficult to be a single woman without a fortune."

That did it! She had just been accused of being a gold digger. Elizabeth laid her fork down and turned to look squarely at Anne DeBourgh, taking her measure. She had already proved to be an easy mark for frivolous wit but as she faced that defiant pale face Elizabeth's first impression of this woman altered somewhat. She looked so young and her defiance held a trace of fear. She had to remind herself that the girl was younger than Lydia by at least a year but the gap in worldliness might have been an ocean wide. Anne had lost her mother, then her father, then was left in the care of a woman who couldn't cope with a precocious child. Finally sent to Pemberley and within a few years the Darcys had died. She'd had very little love and no direction. It would have been child's play to make her look as foolish as she was behaving. She struggled to find a response that would not sound mean or patronizing. "I think it must be just as difficult to be a single woman with a fortune, Miss DeBourgh. It's a man's world and they make it difficult for a woman to make her own rules." What the men at the table thought of this rash statement Elizabeth had no way of knowing, but there was no argument and Anne had no reply.

Lady Catherine was able to contain herself until the dessert course was served. "Tell me, step-daughter, have you read any good books lately?"

Anne shrugged in resignation, "The Sheik", she replied. "Make of it what you will."

Anne's reply caught Elizabeth's attention and she decided to offer an olive branch and a genuine smile. "Do you see yourself as a boy wearing petticoats, Miss DeBourgh?"

Startled gray eyes stared back at her. "You've read the book?"

Elizabeth favored her opponent with an ironic smile, "When I'm not reading the fashion gazette I occasionally amuse myself with a novel."

"And did you like it?"

Elizabeth had to be honest. "On one level, it's nothing but silly escapism. On the other hand, what woman doesn't long to escape the confines of a mundane existence for love and adventure on the blazing sands of the Sahara? I think I would prefer love and adventure on the Riviera, but to each his own."

Elizabeth was rewarded with a genuine smile. "Diana doesn't follow the rules."

"Not wanting to follow the rules doesn't mean you have to lose reason or common sense. The book delivers a message that should never be tolerated by a woman."

"Why not? She's a free spirit."

"We're all free, Miss DeBourgh. What most of us lack is courage."

"If only we could find courage in a bottle."

Richard snorted, "That's how most pub fights start."

Elizabeth ignored the interruption, "Courage in a bottle would be as ephemeral as perfume. It would wear off too soon. Just think of Diana half-way across the Sahara when she loses her courage. She could end up in a Bedouin tent with a man old enough to be her grandfather and who smelled not of spices but of camel dung."

To everyone's surprise, William Collins entered the conversation, "Miss DeBourgh", he said, "have you perhaps read Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?" When Anne nodded with a frown, he continued, "Do you remember Lord Wotten saying to Dorian that women appreciate cruelty more than anything else? He goes on to say how they love to be dominated, and though men have emancipated them they remain slaves looking for their masters. Do you believe this to be true?"

Anne's frown deepened, "Of course not."

"And yet, thirty years later a woman writes a book that seems to promote these very sentiments and it's proved to be wildly popular. How can they ever hope to gain the right to a full vote in elections with this attitude?"

"But both books are fiction," Anne argued. "They're meant to amuse."

"They're also meant to give the reader something to think about, Miss DeBourgh. There's no doubt in my mind that there are men in the world who view women as less than human. And I can also assure you that there are woman who imagine themselves in love with their abusers. I would not wish to discourage you from reading for the written word is worth a thousand pieces of gold. I would just advise you not to adopt the sentiments of a character without careful consideration." With nothing further to say, Mr. Collins turned his attention back to his spotted dick.

"I think" said Darcy "that I should get a copy of 'The Sheik' as soon as may be."

"Get one for me," said Bingley.

"Me too," said Richard.

"Save your money and wait for the film," said Elizabeth with a sly grin. "I've read that Rudy Valentino will play the Sheik. Fortunately, we won't be subjected to his thick Italian accent. And as my sister Lydia says, actions speak louder than words anyway."

Anne threw her head back and laughed hardily and Darcy, Richard and Bingley joined in. Mr. Collins was smiling at some point in space while Lady Catherine was eying Anne as if she had had grown horns and a tail.

Soon after, the ladies retired to the drawing room leaving the men to enjoy a glass of brandy.

The day which had started off so poorly had ended on a high note. Darcy had indulged in a mild flirtation. True, he had mentioned their business relationship in what she assumed was his way of telling her not to take his compliments seriously. Still, hope springs eternal, and his mention of business gave her heart. She wanted him to take up where he'd begun before leaving for France. He had to destroy all remnants of the school that reminded him of the men who had been in the process of building it before they followed him to war. Let him build a stone monument to show his gratitude for their sacrifice and tear down the weathered boards of the past.

It was Anne DeBourgh who was the revelation of the day. Elizabeth's expectation of that young woman had been formed by the opinion of Lady Catherine. Anne had been described as willful, fractious, precocious and homicidal. Her first impression of Anne had led her to believe that she was imperious, determined and arrogant but nothing more serious. And she might have continued to see her thus until Lady Catherine in her determination to shame Anne had asked her that loaded question: "Read any books lately?"

The young woman who returned to the drawing room in no way resembled the woman who had made her entrance two hours earlier. She was subdued and showed no sign of imperiousness. What she did show was simple sadness and Elizabeth's heart went out to her. When Elizabeth had acknowledged reading 'The Sheik', Anne's response had been almost pathetic. It had given her a chance to share the experience of reading a book that had grabbed her imagination. The question followed, had she ever been able to share such an experience? Had she no friends to see her through those terrible teen years when her body was changing so dramatically; when her mind was so full of curiosity? Both Elizabeth and Lydia had a mother and a father who had eased this passage. Elizabeth couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to grow to adulthood without some direction especially if you happened to have an inquiring mind or an adventurous spirit and she suspected that Anne had both.

Now, watching her, she appeared to be more like a lost child or a caged animal. She kept looking at the door, her desire to escape growing stronger as each moment passed. Finally, her need to avoid the rest of the company proved irresistible and she bid her stepmother goodnight. To Elizabeth's surprise and gratification, Lady Catherine responded with a nod and a bemused smile. Anne turned away and faced Elizabeth, "Thank you, Miss Bennet," she said softly, "and please make my excuses to Mr. Darcy. I'm very tired."

The minute Anne was out the door, Lady Catherine began, "I am all amazement. I don't know what to make of it."

"And why are you amazed?"

"Don't be coy, dear, it doesn't suit you."

"Alright. At the risk of raising your ire, I think you do Anne a disservice in painting her as willful and intractable. Has it never occurred to you that she might just be chaffing under the yoke of authority and tradition? She was born at the turn of the century when roles for women were etched in stone. My sister and I were born of parents who are free thinkers but Anne believes she must marry, give her husband an heir and several to spare. But suppose she would prefer to live in sin in some Bohemian flat on La Rive Gauche?"

"Or wants to get herself raped by a man who treats his horse better than his women? And as if that isn't bad enough, she falls in love with him! I'd have killed him."

"Oh. So you've read 'The Sheik'?"

"Purely for educative purposes, my dear. One must keep abreast. I shall look forward to seeing Rudy portray the Sheik to further my education."

"You, Madam, are incorrigible."

"One of the prerogatives of old age. But to be honest, I've never seen Anne as animated as I saw her tonight, nor have I ever heard her laugh with such pure delight."

"Oh, Lady Catherine. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard said about another human being, especially describing such a young woman. I think Anne is a very lonely, very unhappy woman. What she needs is a mother."

"Good grief!" cried Lady Catherine, horror flushing her plain face. "Don't look at me like that. Do I look like the motherly sort? I failed her miserably when she was a child. I'd be the death of her if I offered any suggestions on how to live her life. What she needs is a big sister."

"Oh no you don't! I have enough on my plate."

"Left to me," Lady Catherine mused, "I'd send her off to a nunnery. I'm sure Anne would be more comfortable living in sin on the left bank of the Seine."

Both women were still laughing hardily when the men joined them.

*****

In the library later that evening Darcy, Richard and Bingley made themselves comfortable with generous portions of brandy and a bottle within easy reach. Reverend Collins had been invited but had to decline. With a brief stopover in London, he planned to drive down to Kent early the following morning.

"Well", said Richard after a satisfied sip, "This has been a night to remember. What on earth has gotten into our aunt? I've never seen her in such high spirits. Why is she laughing so much? I know how amusing a companion Miss Bennet can be, but those two seem to be a combustible combination. And what has got in that clergyman? He actually spoke several sentences in a row. It's all very unnatural."

Darcy agreed and, he added, "Miss Bennet certainly brought out a side of Anne I had never seen before. I confess I've always thought of Anne as a spiritless young woman yet this evening she came alive before our very eyes. And, Richard, what was going on between you and Anne this evening? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear we were all witnessing a lover's quarrel."

"Well, that does it!" Bingley exclaimed so sharply he drew attention from the two cousins who leveled him with two matching frowns. Bingley had occasionally been subject to a frown from Darcy and Richard but never at the same time. He swallowed hard, "Don't think you can intimidate me with frowns for I can always shut my eyes. I've been patiently waiting all day and now I insist on satisfaction. I want to know when Anne is to be married, to whom she is marrying and why I was not informed of her coming nuptials. But most of all I want to know, Darcy, why you invited me here knowing how uncomfortable I'd be. I'd like to think you have a perfectly plausible excuse for nothing else will do."

Richard glanced at Darcy who was staring at Bingley in horror. "What's he babbling about, Darce?

"I have no idea."

Bingley regarded both men with distrust. "You can't expect me to believe that neither of you knew she was getting married. If she told me, she would have told you."

"When did she tell you?" Darcy asked

"Two weeks ago."

"Under what circumstances?"

"I asked her out for a birthday celebration and she told me she wouldn't be seeing me anymore because she was getting married."

"Is that all?" Richard scoffed. "It could have been worse. She might have told you she was having her toenails painted that night. Sounds like she was letting you off easy." It was Richard's turn to have two frowns leveled at him. "Women," he added lamely.

Darcy turned his attention back to Bingley, "Is your heart broken, Charles, or are you relieved? After the spectacle you made of yourself with Miss Bennet, I'd say you've recovered your spirits and are ready to move on with your life."

"That's not the point. I should have been warned. And I did not make a spectacle of myself. I was my usual charming self."

"That would be in the eye of the beholder, Charles. But we couldn't warn you about something that isn't going to happen. I had dinner with her a couple of nights ago and there was no mention of marriage. As a matter of fact, I had the distinct feeling that she was treating me as her date and not as an older brother which is why I felt I needed a chaperon."

"I thought you needed a chaperon to protect you from Caroline. Then when I found out that my sister had left Pemberley, I thought it must be Miss Bennet you were worried about. But I could see that she is not the least interested in you."

"What? Miss Bennet was perfectly amiable to me! Why on earth would you say such a thing?"

"She hardly ever looks at you. While you were being so charming to her did you not notice how she stared at Richard when he was talking to Anne? She couldn't take her eyes off him."

Darcy shrugged, "She wasn't looking at Richard. She was looking at Anne."

Horror spread across Bingley's face. "Are you telling me that Anne jilted me over a woman? I'll have to join the Foreign Legion if this gets out. I'll be the laughing stock of all England."

Darcy groaned, "Richard, wake me up. I'm having a nightmare."

*****

In the loneliness of her room Anne stared out into the darkness of Pemberley. Unbidden tears coursed down her face which she allowed to fall freely. The only future she had believed in for so long was slowly slipping from her grasp or was already lost to her. She felt trapped with nowhere to turn. The thought of returning to her home in Town was too terrible to contemplate. Her private rooms were where she had nurtured her delusions from morning, through endless days and nights until sleep found her. Still, she could not stay at Pemberley despite the fact that Pemberley was the only home where she felt comfortable. It was William's home. She had lived with the dream for so long. How could she bear to witness William falling in love with Elizabeth Bennet? She had seen the way he looked at her.

She wanted to disappear. Perhaps she should go mad and sing nonsense songs as Ophelia had. She could weave rue for regret in her hair and slip silently into the lake. No one would miss her. Not William or Richard, not Charles or Charlotte. Lady Catherine despised her and would probably be happy to see the end of her. Only Georgiana would miss her for they had bonded during William's absence. In their shared grief Anne had finally opened her heart. She knew that others in the family had guessed her secret. Richard, who knew him better than anyone, had warned her on numerous occasions that her hopes would never be fulfilled. Charlotte, at her laconic best, had cautioned her to stop wasting her time. But Georgie had shown neither amusement or mockery. Her response had been so kind and sympathetic for who could not love her beloved brother?

The house grew quiet as she continued to stand at the window. She felt devoid of all emotion except for her grief. She wanted desperately to hate Miss Bennet but could not. Miss Bennet had proved to be not only beautiful but intelligent and witty as well. She had made Anne feel like a witless schoolgirl so easily. Yet Miss Bennet had actually engaged her in conversation, even drawing the usually taciturn Mr. Collins into the discussion. It was then that she saw the open admiration on William's face as he stared at Miss Bennet. And Lady Catherine had seen it too. Compared to Miss Bennet, she really was that gray mouse.

How foolish she had been all these years. So many warnings had gone unheeded. Even sweet Georgiana had suggested they both head for the continent and spend the summer looking for their charming princes. She now understood that Georgiana was trying to tell her that her brother would never marry her. Perhaps she should go to Europe. Or maybe Constantinople as Richard had suggested. Perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps another world was waiting for her. She didn't know what to do. It was all so hopeless but somehow she was going to have to come to terms with the truth.

*****

William Collins was not a man for small talk. He was an observer of the human condition and preferred to live in his own mind where he could let his imagination soar. He could not have chosen a better stage for his flight of fancy than the drawing room that night. Elizabeth Bennet had opened the first act. She had brought with her an ethereal beauty which had left the spectators breathless. Had she materialized from the court of Napoleon or had she stepped out from the portrait on the upper landing? If she had but spared a look at Darcy she would have seen the smoldering look he bestowed upon her. But he had observed since her arrival, that she very rarely looked at Darcy which had first piqued his curiosity about her. It seem unnatural not to look at such a remarkable male specimen. On the other hand, there had been moments when she had allowed her eyes to look at him which was invariably followed by a sadness in her beautiful eyes which he could not yet fully understand. But on this night he couldn't dwell on it for his attention was immediately gained by the silly grin on the face of Darcy's young friend. Bingley had wasted no time in skipping across the room to amuse this vision with his usual jovial good humor which ended with the entrance of Anne DeBourgh. That young lady had sped across the room in a perfect imitation of Caroline Bingley, complete with Caroline's high pitched voice, to clutch Darcy's arm with her brightly painted talons. Her choice of a model showed her youth for apparently she hadn't realized just how much Darcy despised Caroline.

As for Bingley, the last he'd heard, that young man was besotted with Anne DeBourgh yet her sudden appearance in the drawing room had a very peculiar effect on the young man. He had actually glared at his host and Charles Bingley never glared. He was usually too happy a fellow to indulge in such churlish behavior. Darcy had obviously not noticed his friend's displeasure as he seemed so uncomfortable with Anne's entrance. He could have sworn that Darcy had actually twitched at the sight of her.

Next came Richard's entrance which evinced a glower of distaste from Anne. Then Darcy half-dragged Anne over to introduce her to Elizabeth Bennet which resulted in Bingley stalking off to a corner of the room followed by Anne who chose another corner. The fun wasn't over yet. When the dinner bell rang and Anne headed back to Darcy, Richard had stopped her, which drew Elizabeth's notice which in turn drew a glower from Darcy aimed at his cousin. Lady Catherine was close to chewing nails between gulps of her large gin and he himself was close to laughing out loud which was something he never did unless in the privacy of own room. His newest story would involve a king, his two court jesters and an oversexed sprite. Where he would place Elizabeth Bennet, he had yet to determine.


	16. INTERLUDE

A faint scent of spice assailed her senses as she allowed herself to float up from the depths of a deep sleep. Behind closed eyes she saw shapeless images of pastels and oil from another age undulating in gentle waves before they faded to vast oceans of golden sand. In the distance she saw a lone rider approaching her at a leisurely pace. Impatiently she waited for him but though he rode steadily, no sooner had he reached a high drift then he would disappear behind another shifting dune, still no nearer. Impatiently she opened her eyes and called to him but he was gone and the scene had transformed into rich farmlands spreading out as far as the eye could see. She could smell the air so sweet, redolent of wheat and barley, of fruit and wild flowers. But it didn't last for these too began to ripple and fade and from the dark earth rose a giant oak spreading it's branches and climbing high into the sky casting it's shadow over the land.

She recognized her old friend and knew she was on Oakham Mount. Her fingers moved over the familiar etchings of long ago lovers and she felt a pervasive feeling of longing for another time and place. Through the branches she could make out long rough paths that led to derelict mansions encased in gnarled vines. Brass lanterns swinging violently on ancient coaches now appeared on rutted roads and she imagined she could hear the snap of a whip and the cries of drivers long dead. With no sense of danger she settled upon the earth as her soft muslin skirt billowed high on her slim legs, baring her ankles. She laughed with joy and from the dark forest surrounding her she heard the echoes of other voices which she perceived as not being of this world. In the distance she saw him coming with those long proud strides which belied his true nature. Breath caught in her throat for he was her true love and the future lay before them.

Suddenly this bucolic scene began to oscillate and splinter into fragments. She was back in darkness yet she felt no fear as she opened her eyes to see a shadowy form looming over her. Mesmerized by this apparition she reached out in a futile attempt to enclose the illusion in her arms but it wavered away leaving a feeling of desolation in it's wake. But time sped quickly as all dreams do, and once more her fantasy took form. This time she closed her eyes, willing the dream to linger and lengthen. At last she felt his presence gently sliding her gown off her shoulder. A soft hand took her breast and she held her breath as he leaned over her, murmuring her name. Her body erupted in a frenzied spasm as she felt his mouth capture her nipple, teasing and suckling her She cried out his name arching her body in that terrible need.

Elizabeth awoke with a suddenness hearing the the hall clock tolling the time in delicate chimes. She was sitting up in bed clasping the rich velvet counterpane to her face, hardly aware of her surroundings. The house was quiet except for the beating of her heart. After a moment she fell back against the plush pillows, gripping them hard against her body and murmuring his name softly over and over until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke, the sun was well up and Betty was laying out her clothes. She knew her eyes were swollen so kept her head down as she hurried to the bathroom. One look in the mirror said it all and she spent the next five minutes applying cold compresses to her ravished face, wondering not for the first time why it was always the woman who ended up weeping and wailing for a man. Just once, she'd like to see a man clutching his damp handkerchief as he blubbered himself to sleep. By the time she was dressed, Elizabeth was in a foul mood.

At the landing she stopped and lifted her eyes to the painting which so gently portrayed the love between the master and mistress of Pemberley from another place in time, wondering what had brought them together. Had their course of love run smoothly or had they suffered some setbacks? Had she come from his class with wealth and standing in society or had she been a middle-class doctor's daughter living on a small estate in the middle of nowhere. Was there an instant attraction or had he been able to walk away and never give her a second thought as the present master of Pemberley had forgotten her? Or had he been unable to forget her? Being a romantic at heart, she rather hoped that it had been a case of love at first sight and they had lived happily ever after. She herself had found that falling in love was both exhausting and painful and not conducive to a good night's sleep. She made a mental note that if she ever recovered her senses, she would never do it again.

As she descended the stairs she slipped back in time to the day when she came down the stairs at Longbourn after their night together. How embarrassed she'd been wondering how she should react. At least with a dream she didn't have to fear she'd blush in his company. At least she hoped not.

She needn't have worried. To her surprise and disappointment, Elizabeth found the breakfast room empty. Richard had gone north to visit his parents on the family estate and Mr. Collins had headed south to Kent. Lady Catherine had reverted to taking breakfast in bed. She had found that making up the day's menu not as much fun as she thought it might be. It had proved to be a tedious task calling on her for deep thought too early in the morning, which she deemed unseemly for a lady of her station. She preferred to spend her mornings buried in Edith Wharton, or better still, D.H. Lawrence, at least until the insufferable Hercule Poirot surfaced once more. In fact, she had decided to pen a letter to Agatha Christie demanding she write another novel about the smug Belgian.

Selfishly, Elizabeth didn't care where Anne DeBourgh or Charles Bingley were. There was only one person she wanted to see and as usual, he was nowhere to be seen. She'd gone to bed the previous night encouraged that the morning would bring the dawn of a new beginning and here she was once more wondering where he was and wondering if she should give up the ghost. Her dream remained hazy and all but forgotten except for that brief moment when his searing kiss had awakened her senses. She closed her eyes remembering that moment of bliss but with that moment came anger.

Long into the night Elizabeth had stood at the window enjoying the view of a shaded moon and the lights of the lanterns carried by the night watchmen. It had been an interesting evening as well as enlightening. Unfortunately, some of the conversation had left her feeling uneasy. She knew authors allowed their imaginations to soar free but she knew from listening to her father how brutally men could treat women in the name of love for he had repaired many a broken arm or crushed cheek. These same men when sober were gentle, soft spoken men who worked hard for their families. Their local minister called this phenomenon the dark soul of man. She herself had witnessed how brutal men could be. When one thrust of a bayonet would disable, what could account for three or four?

Literature and life were full of villains. Countess Bathory killed for the fun of it and bathed in her victim's blood to enhance her own beauty. Fagin lured children into crime for greed of gold. Morris Townsend broke a woman's heart in his desire to gain wealth and stature. Dorian Gray seduced both men and women and eventually took pleasure in the results he effected rather than the acts themselves.

Why her mind was leading her down this dark road she couldn't imagine though she suspected that her own loneliness and despair were responsible. Despite her best intentions, her doubts had surfaced. She remembered the day when she had taken him to her home at Longbourn. She knew her actions were questionable and possibly dangerous. He could be a mass murderer. Well, that was doubtful, but people had a propensity to do all kinds of crazy things for reasons of their own. She didn't really know if he had actually been at the Tynebridge asylum. For all she knew, he had simply left his family for a rest from them...god knows he probably needed it... and happened upon a naïve young woman whom he could have sport with. He had seduced her and then disappeared. And now she was at Pemberley and once more he was having sport with her. Flirting, assuring her that he would put her to work, and where was he? Did he plan another seduction? Then when he succeeded would she be fired? Well think again, mister! He was the last man on earth she would crawl into bed with. Dreams didn't count.

With horror she focused on her plate of sausage and scrambled eggs. The eggs had been swished into an unsavory yellow glob and the sausage mutilated beyond recognition. She scraped the mess onto her fork and managed to get it into her mouth without further damage just as Charles Bingley entered the room with a cheery smile, humming a nameless tune. She watched him examine the various hot plates before making his choices and settling into the chair opposite her. She poured him a cup of coffee, ignoring the look of dismay on his face as he eyed the mess on her plate.

"You seem to be in a good mood, Mr. Bingley," she said idly.

"Call me Charles, please. Yes, I'm in a good mood. Spending time with Darcy and Richard has that effect on me. They make me laugh. I haven't decided whether it's deliberate or by accident, but it doesn't matter. It's all in good fun."

"Mr. Darcy has a sense of humor? He seems so serious and quiet."

"Oh, no. He's quite a tease."

"Perfect! Just what she wanted to hear. "Has he returned to London?"

"Oh, no. Darcy's gone to Lampton. He's having breakfast with some businessmen. He should be back for lunch."

The relief Elizabeth felt was palpable. All her crazy thoughts flew out the window. "I understand you went to Cambridge with him."

Bingley nodded, "I roomed with him during my first year and his last."

Elizabeth allowed him a few swallows before remarking, "It must have been terrible for you hearing that he had been killed in France."

"I was still in shock six months later. But not nearly as shocked as I was to see him step off the bus and walk straight into the path of a cab." He stopped abruptly. His face had turned ashen and he reached for his cup and downed the contents. Ten minutes earlier, he would have needed first aid for a scolded mouth.

After all these months of sorrow, all the sleepless nights weeping the hours away, a careless slip of the lip had given her the answer to a question which had haunted her since Smithy's disappearance. Elizabeth took pity on him. "Yesterday I saw an unfinished building on the grounds. Was that meant to be a school?"

Bingley reacted greedily to the change of subject but she paid little attention to his answer feeling her heart beating wildly. He hadn't run away! Mother was right! He planned to return that night! Thank you, Mister Bingley! Would you mind if I kissed you?

Her muddled thoughts continued until Anne entered the room which stopped Bingley's rambling thoughts as he tried to recover from his slip-up. "Good morning, Anne" he cried. "I trust you had a pleasant sleep."

Anne frowned to be greeted with such friendliness, "Quiet pleasant, thank you, Charles."

"Good, good." Bingley went back to eating as Anne filled her plate from the sideboard but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. Unwittingly, he had divulged a secret which would have raised all kinds of uncomfortable questions. And now, Elizabeth felt sure he would feel obligated to admit his error to Darcy. Added to that, he was now in a room with a woman whom he had publicly disdained the previous evening. Elizabeth had no idea what their problems were, but she was gratified that their antipathy of the previous night had eased into something more civil. He hurried through his meal then grabbed a sweet roll, nodded at both ladies before scurrying from the room leaving Anne and Elizabeth eying each other warily.

Anne was the first to look away but after a moment she said softly, "I owe him an apology. I treated him shabbily and I have no excuse."

"He seems affable enough. I'm sure he will forgive you. Friends quarrel but they get over it."

"We were never friends. I wouldn't allow it. I used him. I was lonely and I used him. I had an agenda which by any standards could be considered duplicitous. What's worse, I never gave a thought to how my actions could hurt him." Anne finally raised her eyes to Elizabeth, "I think I must have a dark side. Perhaps I read too many novels." She attempted a smile but failed as her eyes filled.

Elizabeth didn't know how to respond. She herself was at Pemberley for less than honest motives. Anne had used Bingley to take advantage of his friendship with Darcy. The next best thing to being in his presence was to hear every detail of his daily life. She was doing the same thing. She had come to Pemberley hoping to revive his memory of the months he spent at Longbourn. So far she had seen little of him yet she lingered on punishing herself with desires that invaded her sleep. She wanted nothing more than to escape the room and think about what Bingley had let slip. For the first time since meeting with him at his townhouse, she would be able to see Darcy as the man who had planned to return to her. She was now convinced of it. Being hit by a cab had to be the key. In her mind's eye she saw it unfold. He had suffered another shock to his system and when he awoke in familiar surroundings with a dear friend saying his name, his past had come flooding back. It had to have been something like that.

When Elizabeth remained mute, Anne added, "My stepmother thinks I'm evil. Maybe she's right."

Elizabeth snapped out of her self absorption, "Do you care what she thinks? You're a woman of fortune and don't have to answer to anyone. You can do anything you want. And you can also read anything that suits your fancy. And just between the two of us, Lady Catherine has read 'The Sheik' and I have no doubt she has 'Fanny Hill' stuffed under her mattress."

Anne was shocked and said so. "I can't believe that. For years she's railed and tormented me over my reading matter. She's even accused me of licentious behavior because I enjoy museums. She thinks that I only go to see statues of naked men."

Elizabeth laughed hardily, imagining such a scene, "Until the real thing comes along it's one way of getting an education, Anne. But seriously, as Moliere said, 'There are pretenders to piety as well as to courage', and Lady Catherine, bless her heart, was talking rubbish. Your stepmother has a warped sense of humor. I expect she was trying to get a rise out of you but simply didn't know how to tease a child. Children are alien creatures to her. She as much admitted that last night."

"She's robbed me of my self confidence."

"Then steal it back! At the risk of sounding preachy, we don't choose our guardians. My sister and I were fortunate in our parents. But you are now a full grown woman and you can't dwell on the past. My sister is of the opinion...and she has many...that a woman should write her own story. That takes courage, but I think you're up to it. Whether you know it or not, your stepmother was impressed with you last night. You held your own. What do you think? Can you write your own story?"

"Is that what you're doing here, Miss Bennet? Writing your own story?"

"Let's just say that I'm between chapters and waiting for some inspiration."

"How will you know if you've chosen the right path?"

"I won't until I try. Life takes courage."

"It's easy to be brave from a distance. In the safety of my home I'm a world traveler but the thought of boarding a ship and sailing off to some exotic land fills me with terror. Yet I want to be some place else. Richard, of all people, said as much last night."

Elizabeth's interest was instantly piqued, "What did he say to you?"

Anne flushed, "Among other things, he said that I belonged in Paris, Rome, Spain and Constantinople"

"How romantic. And what else did he say?"

If possible, Anne's color became a full-blown blush. "Oh, just some more rubbish not worth mentioning."

Elizabeth stared at this young woman in disbelief. Was nothing as it seemed? She had been led to believe that Anne was madly in love with Darcy and on the the previous night it appeared that the rumors were true yet here she was, dreaming of adventure far from Pemberley. Now she was blushing like a schoolgirl over something Richard had said to her. Elizabeth knew Richard as a jokester and a flirt. She also remembered the way he had accosted Anne the night before. She had seen something of a sexual nature in his address but had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. Could Richard be infatuated with Anne?

And what of Charles Bingley? He was supposed to be madly in love with Anne but after pouting most of last evening he seemed to have recovered his spirits much too quickly. Lady Catherine had shown a tyrannical face to Anne, yet Elizabeth had found her good-natured, albeit with a sense of the ridiculous. One further thing in her favor was her friendship with William Collins whom Elizabeth had come to respect. As for the good Reverend, he hid a clever mind behind the facade of a disinterested observer. And Darcy? He was a man split in two, only one of which he remembered. It was left to Elizabeth to remember the other. As for Anne DeBourgh, she was proving to be not a homicidal maniac but an honest and affable young woman. Her mind was spinning, reeling and boggled.

"Miss Bennet...Elizabeth, are you unwell?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Occasionally I think I'm losing my mind. But it will pass."

"Oh. Well, it must be something in the air. I felt the same way not two nights ago."

Elizabeth raised her head, " And now?"

"Fortunately, it has passed and I've regained some common sense though there is always tomorrow. Have you ever been in love, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth eyed Anne uncertainly, half expecting to see an astute awareness but saw only simple curiosity, "I've had my share of heartbreak," she replied. Cautiously, she added, "Unrequited love can be brutal."

Anne nodded, "I realize now how much I've hurt Charles. I tried so hard to be in love with him, but trying doesn't work. I made a mess of it. I have to apologize to him and hope he isn't suffering too much."

Elizabeth seriously doubted that Charles Bingley was suffering from anything more than relief. Perhaps now Jane Postlewaite might have a chance with him.

As if Anne had read her thoughts, she added thoughtfully, "I know just the girl for him. Jane Postlewaite would be perfect for him. She's not neurotic or psychotic. It should make a nice change for him."

Anne was proving to have her own ironic sense of humor. Elizabeth returned Anne's smile. She had the strangest feeling that they were slated to become very good friends.

After breakfast, Anne went in search of Charles Bingley, determined to demean herself and beg his forgiveness. She was sure that it had to be done before she could move on. Elizabeth headed to the office to twiddle her thumbs. Once there, she decided to write to Lydia and cry on her shoulder hoping that by unburdening herself she'd feel better. It was also sure to give her sister a good laugh.

Elizabeth had just finished typing the letter when Darcy stepped into the office. His sudden appearance had the usual effect on her. She caught her breath, felt her heart rev up a notch, remembered his mouth on her, and blushed. Absently, she gripped the beads around her neck and began to worry them, remembering the day he had presented them to her. Cold Christmas morn when anything was possible.

"Miss Bennet," he nodded, and threw his leg over the corner of his desk, and perched there comfortably while never taking his eyes off her. When his eyes moved down to her throat she felt a blush begin but refused to lower her own gaze but waited quietly for his eyes to lift back to hers. When that moment came his mouth softened into a gentle smile which reached his dark eyes.

Had Bingley spoken to him? Did he know that she knew of his accident at Cambridge? Her imagination took flight as she thought perhaps he was sharing a secret joke with her. The trouble was, only one of them was privy to his source of amusement. "I swear, Mr. Darcy, you have a most disconcerting habit of smiling at nothing! Unless I have an ink blot on my nose, I would much prefer a frown."

His smile broadened, "My dear, Miss Bennet, I assure you that your face is flawless."

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth's cheeks flamed brighter, "Flattery before the cocktail hour is unseemly," she said primly.

How she had come up with such an inane remark she couldn't guess, but the result startled her as he threw his head back and laughed hardily. "You do have a way with words," Miss Bennet.

"So I've been told."

"Tell me about those beads you wear around you neck."

The question came from out of nowhere and she eyed him suspiciously uncertain of his motive. She could almost convince herself that he knew exactly who she was and instead of admitting it, was toying with her. "Just cheap beads, Mr. Darcy. I won't ask you to put them in your vault."

"But they are important to you." It was a statement.

"Old times not to be forgot."

"They were a gift?"

"Yes."

"From a man?"

"Yes."

He studied her for a long moment, then nodded, "I see. The war, of course." He stood up and glanced around absently. "Well, Miss Bennet, you'll be happy to know that I can put you to work this afternoon. I've made an appointment for you to speak to the local doctor. He should be able to advise you on the supplies you'll need for the infirmary once the school is built. And our schoolmarm will be expecting you after the last class. Hopefully she can give you an idea of how many of her students would profit in a private school."

With an abruptness that left her stunned, Darcy left the room leaving her bewildered and angry. Teasing, teasing man! How could she possibly write her own story when her hero seesawed from warm and fuzzy to cold and distant? She was at an impasse, suffering from writer's block. She had backed herself into a cliffhanger much like Pearl White and her various perils. So, it was time to twist the plot. From now on she would eschew her pretensions of sangfroid and engage him with warmth and charm. No flippant remarks allowed, no avoiding eye contact, and always carry a scented handkerchief in case he showed any signs of weeping in distress. She might even brush her teeth in Summer Breeze. Whatever! Something had to change or she would have to give him up as a lost cause and let him get on with his life as she must. The thought gave her no pleasure and she could only hope that if the time came she would have the strength to leave Pemberley.

William Collins left Pemberley early that morning and drove leisurely down to London. As was his wont, he spent several hours browsing the used book stores. Early in his ministry he had started a lending library at the parsonage and was always in need of new stock. He knew that his young readers looked forward to his return to Hunsford so he always did his best to whet their appetite for the written word. With that in mind, he chose adventures and novels as well as the classics. He was convinced that youth need diversion as well as instruction.

Once satisfied with his choices, he turned his attention the the second-hand shops searching carefully for what he called the gently used clothing. Worn knees and elbows were unacceptable. He knew how important it was for children to take pride in their appearance. Two of the proprietors saved the best assortments for him knowing how fastidious he was. He ascribed to the view of one of his favorite American authors, Mark Twain. "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society".

His personal funds lighter by thirty pounds he stopped for a brief lunch before continuing his journey south to Kent. Shortly after leaving the environs of London the roads narrowed somewhat and as usual, he found himself behind a slow moving vehicle. Being a cautious driver he took no chances and as a result, didn't reach Hunsford until tea time. As he pulled into the driveway of the parsonage, his young assistant, Edward, greeted him with his usual enthusiasm. He was an affable young lad still wet behind the ears and still believing that he could make a difference in the world. Unfortunately, he was as unprepossessing as he himself was and had no real hope of rising high in the church. Intelligence was not the coin of the realm. Only youth and beauty or wealth could pave the way to the richer parishes, but Edward appeared to be unaware of this precept or didn't care. He seemed to be perfectly happy serving the poor of Hunsford and in turn, this made Mr. Collins happy. Spending so much time at Pemberley was proving to be a guiltless pleasure especially since the arrival of Elizabeth Bennet. There was a puzzle there and he was determined to solve it. Much like a jigsaw puzzle, he had twisted and turned the various pieces but still had formed an imperfect picture. But he was a patient man and felt sure that time would eventually fill in the missing parts and he wanted to be at Pemberley when the puzzle was complete.

After tea he made his way over to Rosing's Park and sat on a stone bench gazing up at the old mansion imagining it's past glory. Filthy windows gazed back at him as if to disabuse him of any possibilities that it's youth could be resurrected, though on further consideration, thought that anything was possible. In the past few months he had seen a noticeable difference in Lady Catherine. Her consumption of gin had diminished considerably and her good humor had increased. There were lapses, of course, but the good, as far as he was concerned, outweighed the bad, and he knew that Darcy had taken note of it because he had said so privately. This was good news if that venerable lady was ever to realize her dream.

He wished only the best for his friend. They had met as two unhappy souls and had found consolation from their loneliness in a comfortable companionship. Still, it had to come to an end. His desire to leave England and see the world had never abated. The day was coming when he would discard his uniform in favor of mufti made of the finest cloth. Darcy had asked no questions when he had applied for the address of his tailor. He had scribbled his name on a card and handed it to him assuring him that he would be treated very well. For this kindness, Mr. Collins would be forever grateful.

As he strolled back to the parsonage, he studied the large gardens which had lain in ruins for decades. Thick vines lifted their gnarled arms in convoluted patterns that, for a fanciful moment, he imagined were reaching out to him, pleading for help. "Patience," he said softly. "Patience."

That evening he treated Edward to a much deserved dinner at the local inn followed by a visit to the local pub which was expected of him. The children expected books and new clothes, and their elders expected a few free rounds. Both he and his assistant were treated as fine fellows and as always Mr. Collins did not stint on his generosity and allowed the ale to flow freely. Edward lasted through two glasses before returning to the parsonage on unsteady legs much to the amusement of the rowdy crowd. Collins remained for one more glass then bid good night to his friends but not before leaving a fist full of coins on the bar to see the patrons to a few more glasses. Beer was not his favorite beverage but he deemed it a necessary bridge between the church and the inhabitants of Hunsford. A raging flu and the war had taken it's toll on all of England but the poorest of the poor had suffered horrific losses and it seemed the least he could do for his flock.

Back at the parsonage he poured a tall brandy and settled into bed with "Who and Where", Edward's copy of an annual magazine proudly published by their seminary. He slowly flipped through the pages casting a jaundiced eye over the pictures of the most prominent graduates, none of which he recognized. By the time he reached the last half of the magazine there were no more photos but only names of more people he didn't recognize. He was about to toss this waste of a tree to the floor when a name caught his eye. It took him several moments before he was able to put a face to the name and then he let out a soft chuckle.

Harry Bumstead, two years behind him, detested as a tattler, a liar, and a sneak by all, had been the biggest gossip in the school. His vicious propensities had led to midnight talks of castration... only half in jest. How or why such a man had been admitted to a seminary had further soured Collins against the church. Bitter bile rose in his throat realizing that such a man had actually graduated and been placed among the innocents. And how many villages had been subjected to Bumstead's poison he couldn't begin to guess, but he had recently been sent to still another village just three months earlier.

Ordinarily he wouldn't have cared one way or the other for Henry Bumstead was truly a despicable human being, however, the information of where he was now placed, had piqued his curiosity. He stared at the ceiling for five minutes, then finished his drink and turned off the light. Tomorrow he would ring up his dear, dear friend and have a few laughs and catch up on old times...might even pay him a visit. He might even get a bit of gossip about the inhabitants of the small village where, after eight years, he had not risen but was still a lowly assistant. In the dark, he smiled with anticipation.


	17. THIS AND THAT

Darcy was sitting in his favorite chair thoroughly engrossed in Sinclair Lewis's Main Street. He was fascinated with all things American particularly the names they gave to their towns. England had its Crapstone and Butt Hole road which never failed to summon a smirk, but he found a gentle amusement to think of a town called Gopher Prairie, imagining the pests setting up shop once the humans retired for the night. In his minds eye he could picture the pioneers who settled on such a desolate land and what had driven them to call a halt to their dangerous trek across the vast unknown continent. Brave explorers all with only hardship and misery ahead of them. Had they understood that they would pave the way for the men and women who followed, who were altering the map of the world? For adventurers life must have been an exhilarating experience.

In so many ways he envied them. His own life had been laid out for him on the day he was born. He was to rule an estate that supported three hundred souls that depended on him for their well being. An onerous task which left little time for a private life. Loneliness had become a dull ache which had invaded his dreams leaving him unsettled with an overpowering desire to escape. Something was missing and the possibility that he might spend the rest of his life yearning for something or someone unknown was intolerable. Absently, he reached into his vest pocket and took out the keyring rubbing the ebony disc, staring at the key that lay in the palm of his hand. How had he come by it? Who had given it to him? And why couldn't he remember her? Her? Why suddenly did he think that a woman had given it to him? Why not a man? And who was Smithy? Was he holding a key that didn't rightly belong to him? The familiar throb began in his temples and he slipped the key back to safety deliberately willing his mind to go blank, warding off a full blown migraine that invariably came when he dwelt too long on the missing pieces of his past.

Once the headache had subsided he turned his attention back to Main Street determined to distract himself but another distraction awaited him. When the door flew open to admit Bingley who immediately began to pace, Darcy closed the book. It appeared he would have to settle for Charles Bingley to supply an exhilarating experience. The history of Gopher Prairie couldn't hold a candle to Charles Bingley in a lather, which was always a source of entertainment.

He waited patiently for his old friend to reveal the reason for his distress and at length was finally rewarded when Bingley stopped in front of him "I've done something terrible, Darcy," he cried, wringing his hands, "something unforgivable."

Darcy had known Charles Bingley for several years and knew him as an honest and upright fellow. He seriously doubted if he could do anything that a friend would find unforgivable. "Then you had better marry her, Charles," he intoned sadly, "and make an honest woman of her. Would you like me to be your best man? Caroline can escort her down the aisle and the heavy scent of musk will permeate the air, intoxicating all your well-wishers. Mercifully, it might even put you into drunken state. Perhaps we can talk Richard into carrying your brides train. How does that sound?"

Bingley's complexion turned to an ugly shade of puce, "What? No, no. Nothing like that. It's worse!"

"I doubt that," Darcy replied with a grin, imagining such a scene.

Bingley stamped a boot, "Oh do be serious, Darcy! You're never going to forgive me."

"Let me be the judge of that. What have you done?"

"I...I told Miss Bennet your secret."

Darcy's frown was instant, "What secret?"

Bingley watched Darcy's eyes carefully. Only his nearest friends knew that Darcy had a tendency to frown when puzzled and if his eyes remained dark brown all might be safe. If, on the other hand, they turned to a flinty black, it was time to seek shelter. "I...I told her that you stepped off a bus at Cambridge and got knocked down by a cab."

"And why did you tell her that?"

Darcy was still frowning but blessedly, there was no sign of a murderous glint. "She caught me off guard. She asked me how long we had been friends and how shocked I must have been to hear that you had been killed in action."

"Yes. I can see how such an innocent question might catch you off guard," was the sardonic reply. "So, Charles, what was her response to this unguarded disclosure? By your demeanor, I suppose she plied you with a dozen questions concerning the accident, rumors of my demise, and how I came to surface in Cambridge. Were you still caught off guard and compelled to relate my entire history starting from my birth?

Bingley dropped into a chair, "I say, Darcy, this is not exactly how I expected you to react. I thought you'd be furious and send me packing."

Darcy ignored the remark. "I wonder why she didn't respond? One minute I'm dead in France and the next minute I appear in Cambridge stepping off a public bus. I have a garage full of automobiles yet you tell her that I stepped off a bus and she doesn't question you? You tell her that I was knocked down by a cab and as a former nurse she didn't ask if I was hurt? She didn't ask how I came to rise from the grave? She showed no curiosity?"

"If I remember correctly, she mentioned seeing the half-finished school on the grounds. And then I think Anne walked in."

"That doesn't make any sense. And Miss Bennet is a sensible woman. Very curious."

Bingley eyed his friend with interest, "Beautiful, intelligent and sensible," he said thoughtfully. "Everything a man could ask for in a wife."

"Forget her, Charles. She's not your type. Besides, she's unavailable."

"Don't be obtuse, Darcy. I'm through with women, at least until I regain my strength. I was thinking of you. And what makes you think she's unavailable?"

"She practically told me so this morning. She's still in love with someone who died in the war. She's off limits. Now go find something to do and I'll meet you in the billiard's room in one hour."

"Hold on, friend! What exactly did she say to you?"

"I asked her about those green beads she always wears around her neck. She said that they were a gift from a man who died in the war."

"She said that?"

"They're the exact color of her eyes. Have you noticed that?"

"No. I haven't. But apparently you have. Exactly what did she say to you?"

"It was not so much what she said, but the look on her face."

"And from the look on her face you deduced that she was mourning a lover? Did she also look like she was planning to join a nunnery?"

Darcy sighed, "Do I have to spell it out for you? So many women lost loved ones in the war. And Miss Bennet was one of them. Now leave it be, Bingley and let me get back to my book."

At the door, Bingley turned and watched Darcy open his book and resume reading. Even now after nearly six years, Bingley could still relive that moment when he had first laid eyes on this remarkable man. He himself had been such an unremarkable specimen, fearful of his own shadow, terrified of his sister, positive he didn't have the courage to survive four years at Cambridge. Yet, within a few hours, this man who was possessed of such wealth and stature had managed to calm his fears and convince him that running away was not the answer. He had worked wonders, undoing the harm that Caroline had done in his formative years. There was no way he could ever repay the kindness that Darcy had bestowed on him. Bingley wanted nothing more than to help his best friend find the happiness he so richly deserved. To Bingley's romantic heart, this meant that Darcy needed a wife so he could live happily ever after. Nothing else would do. But how to go about it?

He knew he wasn't the most astute of men, but he had been watching Darcy and had seen something he had never seen before. At Cambridge Darcy had coolly avoided the company of young women. He had no intention of getting involved with a woman until he had finished school and took over the management of Pemberley. He could not afford to become distracted. Then came the war, his parents were killed, and production was increased on the estate. There simply was not enough time in the day to seek out the company of a woman. Then came the lost year. What decent woman would connect with a man of no wealth or memory? That he would attach himself to a shopkeeper's daughter or an uneducated chambermaid was inconceivable yet why this longing, this sorrow that he sensed in his old friend? There was a woman. There had to be a woman. Who was she? Where was she? Was she sitting in some room reading a book trying not to think of the man who deserted her? Had she searched for him? Was she still searching for him? Was he waiting for her to find him?

"Bingley," Darcy growled, " be good enough to open the door, step out, and close the door behind you."

Bingley sighed and did what he was told but once in the hall he stood silent. Guilt assailed him thinking he should have done more for his friend. He and Richard had implored Darcy to hire private detectives but Darcy had steadfastly refused to seek help from strangers. He reasoned and rightly so that if the gossip rags got wind of such a story they would show no pity but would print all kinds of speculation none of which would be grounded in fact. He could take no chances that anyone so unconnected to his family would show discretion. He wouldn't allow two amateur sleuths to seek information either. No, he had insisted. He would let nature take its course for he was sure that he would regain his memory and then he would be able to account for the time he'd lost and if necessary, would anonymously repay his unknown benefactors. In retrospect it had seemed to be a sensible plan but the reality was far less. Nearly another year had slipped by and Darcy was no closer to the truth of where and in whose company he had spent those missing months. To his sorrow, Bingley was aware that Darcy had become resigned. For the first time he had known him Bingley had seen Darcy show a real interest in a woman. What had gone wrong? What did 'she practically told me so' mean? Darcy wasn't even trying! Bingley knew nothing about Elizabeth Bennet and wasn't about to ask her what her intentions were towards the master of Pemberley though the thought of Miss Bennet's reaction to such audacity made him smirk. He was just going to have to bide his time and keep an eye on both of them.

***

That evening with time on her hands, Elizabeth picked up her private line and spoke to Lydia briefly. Wanting to be discrete, the conversation consisted mostly of groans on her part and giggles from her sister. After admonishing her sister for her lack of sympathy, Elizabeth broached the subject of Anne DeBourgh with the expected results. Lydia loved nothing better than going on a shopping spree with someone else's money. She would be delighted to take Anne under her wing. Now all she had to do was convince Anne that a makeover was the very thing to lift her spirits without hurting her feelings.

Pleased with Lydia's response she drew her bath and spent an hour in her bath allowing every pore in her body to absorb Summer Breeze. The gown she chose was the color of wild strawberries, beautiful enough to eat, or at least to nibble on. Matching T-strapped heels and her prized possession of a perfectly matched pearl necklace completed her ensemble. She slipped on a delicate gold watch so she could count the moments before she would see him again, then sat down with tiny glass of sherry to soothe her nerves as she waited for the tinkling bell that would call her down to meet her fate. Short of walking stark naked into the drawing room she was sure to gain Darcy's attention. She was as lovely as she could look wearing clothes, and it would have to do.

She wondered why she bothered. With his abrupt departure from the office that morning she was all at sea. She had dared to think that they were indulging in a mild flirtation. Apparently it had all been one-sided. He ran his fingers through his curls and her fingers itched. He smiled and her heart fluttered. His eyes lowered to her throat and she imagined his lips on her flesh. The sudden arch of her back told it all. She stood up cursing the memory that had the power to transport her to that moment of ecstasy when he'd awakened her passion. She'd been living with that memory for months and there was no end in sight. It seemed that she was destined to live the rest of her life in dreams and fantasy.

But hope springs eternal. When a timid knock on her door drew her attention she thought for a moment that he had come to escort her to the drawing room. To her surprise and disappointment, it was Anne DeBourgh who slipped in quietly looking like a little brown mouse. She had changed her usual gray for brown. A fine couple they were. Elizabeth looked like a preening peacock and Anne looked like a dull pea hen. It would do a terrible disservice to Anne to be seen together.

"You look beautiful, Elizabeth" said the pea hen.

"If I do, I have my sister to thank. She's the one who chose most of my clothes. She has great fashion sense. I was just killing time and trying it on to see if it fit. I'm in no mood to wear a party dress."

"Oh please don't change on my account, Elizabeth. I'm used to being drab and colorless. "You're lucky to have such a clever sister. All my clothes look the same. I have no taste."

Elizabeth regarded Anne with a friendly smile, "What you need is a a makeover,"she said.

"What I need is to be reborn; to erase the past and start over. Perhaps I'd do better the second time around."

"And lose the experience of a lifetime? What if you were destined to repeat all your mistakes?"

"Like wasting two years of Mr. Bingley's life?" Anne asked with a wry smile.

"Speaking of Mr. Bingley, how did your apology go? Did he forgive you?"

"I think so, though it's hard to tell with Charles. I found him in the Dutch garden pacing and waving his arms like a hooked fish. Apparently, someone is never going to forgive him. He will never be able to forgive himself. And what was he going to do?" Anne shrugged, "I suppose I should have left him to his mea culpas but my courage was up and I wanted to get my apology out of the way."

"And?"

"I swallowed my pride and threw myself at his feet. Figuratively, that is. He stared at me like he'd never laid eyes on me before and dismissed me with a "Don't give it another thought, Anne. I'm sure it's for the best." I suppose I should have been insulted that he forgave me so easily, but I was relieved. I always knew that his affection for me was a figment of his imagination."

Unwittingly, Anne had just described her own situation at Pemberley. Smithy was now a figment of her own imagination and Fitzwilliam Darcy a total stranger. As the thought crossed her mind she had a vision of her sister and the chaos that would ensue if Anne and Lydia became friends and Lydia was invited to Pemberley. There was no question that Lydia would come with several suggestions of how to knock some sense into Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth really didn't need any more aggravation. On the other hand, she had begun to think that the task she set for herself would in the end prove impossible. Shrapnel at the base of his skull had done the initial damage and being knocked over by a cab had somehow returned the memory of a lifetime. She couldn't imagine anything less than a major earthquake occurring for him to remember the lost year and earthquakes in England were far too infrequent for her to hope for one in her lifetime.

Mentally she shook herself and broached the possibility of Anne meeting Lydia for lunch with a shopping spree to follow. "She was very excited at the prospect of meeting you. She suggested noon at the Ritz Hotel. What do you think?"

Anne's reaction was so endearing Elizabeth turned away in embarrassment. It seemed such a small kindness to do for this girl who was growing on her. She was far from the ogre she had envisioned but was proving to be intelligent and well-read with the added bonus of being able to laugh at herself when given half a chance. "Are you sure she won't mind, Elizabeth? I wouldn't want to impose on her, but that sounds so wonderful."

"Trust me, Anne, you'll be doing her a favor. Just close your eyes and put yourself into her hands. But, I suppose," she added with a smile, "it wouldn't hurt if you offered up a prayer first."

When the bell signaling the cocktail hour rang, Anne was still laughing when she excused herself to go to Lady Catherine and escort her downstairs since Mr. Collins was still in Kent.

Alone again Elizabeth sat in deep thought. The meeting between Bingley and Anne had taken place shortly after Bingley had let the cat out of the bag. Apparently he planned to confess all to Darcy. If that meeting had taken place, and she could only assume that it had, what was Darcy's reaction? Would he mention it to her and if he did, what should she say? Pretend she hadn't heard it? Then again, would it really matter? So much time had elapsed. His sanity could no longer be questioned. No breath of scandal had been printed about him. But still, if the truth that he had lost a year out of his life became public, all the crazies would come crawling out of the woodwork telling lies and trying to make money. Darcy would not want the truth to be bandied about. Suddenly she wasn't so anxious to join the party downstairs, however, it would be hypocritical not to. She had urged Anne to have courage, could she do less? She just had to watch her tongue. She dared not allow him to suspect that she could account for at least six months of that lost year.

She quickly exchanged her femme fatale outfit for something more muted. Powder blue over plum, retaining the pearls, suited her mood. At the landing she gave the lady on the bench a smile, wondering not for the first time if her love had come softly without trial.

She entered the drawing room quietly, making herself as small as possible as four pairs of eyes turned to her. At the window, Bingley offered her a broad grin while his companion's expression was noncommittal. Anne seemed to have faded into the drapes at the far end of the Catherine was eying her with open admiration. "Well, Miss Bennet, you can be excused for being late," she drawled, "for it was time well spent."

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and accepted a sherry from the servant. She was uncomfortable and in no condition to be the center of attention. She drained half a glass and remained standing unsure of which direction to take. She was damned if she'd approach Darcy who had replaced noncommittal with a frown. Bingley had taken a step back and was now staring at Darcy's profile with an amused smirk. What that portended she dared not speculate. Anne was staring at the floor and Lady Catherine was staring at her empty glass. Elizabeth drained her own glass and looked around for the servant who had mysteriously disappeared. It was just as well. Her empty stomach was revolting against the second glass of sherry. Mercifully, the dinner bell rang and she automatically looked towards Darcy who ignored her and headed towards his aunt. It was left to Bingley to escort her and Anne to the dinner table.

Once they settled down for the soup course, Lady Catherine addressed Elizabeth, "Tell me about Lydia, Miss Bennet."

"Lydia?" Elizabeth replied stupidly.

Lady Catherine smiled wickedly, "I believe you have a sister by that name?"

"Oh. That Lydia. Well, there's not much to say. She is two years my junior and is a part owner of a perfumery in London."

"And is it a successful business?"

"Yes, or Lydia wouldn't have invested in it. They import only the finest perfumes and Lydia has become an expert on matching a woman with the perfect scent."

"I've heard that scent has the power to open an unexpected gateway to past memories", Darcy observed.

Elizabeth felt an electric shock course through her body. Longbourn on a crisp morning in December. Her father had voiced those very same words in a warning that Smithy might regain his memory. She looked at Darcy, seeking acknowledgement that he remembered that conversation but there was nothing in his expression that would indicate anything but a disinterested observation.

Daringly, Elizabeth offered her own observation, "My mother says that the smell of apricot pies baking in the oven always reminds her of sitting on cook's lap when she was just a baby." She watched him carefully looking for any sign of recognition. He was either a good actor or her words meant nothing to him.

"And Musk is for the devious and greedy." he remarked as he allowed the servant to remove his dish. In the silence that greeted this comment he looked confused, "I don't know where that came from. I'm no expert on perfumes. I leave that to the ladies."

In her heart Elizabeth knew that he was back at Longbourn whether he knew it or not.

Lady Catherine turned to Anne, "Which is one good reason for you never to wear musk again."

"Now," Bingley added, "if only you could convince Caroline of that."

Darcy continued, hardly hearing their remarks. "The brain is a curious organ. From the day you're born it begins to file facts and memories. It must remember the past, the present, and learn how to plan for the future. All this information must be accessible in an instant and acted upon without giving it a second thought. And most of the time it works like a well-oiled machine. Yet for all it's perfection it can fail you when you least expect it. It is capable of storing an infinite amount of useless information yet will allow you to forget what is most important to you."

"Then," Bingley offered anxiously "perhaps it wasn't so important and you shouldn't worry about it."

"Easier said than done, old friend. I would not want to be like our Vicar's mother who can remember every detail of her wedding day fifty years ago yet she doesn't recognize her own children. The only saving mercy is that she doesn't remember that she's lost a lifetime of memories."

Lady Catherine spoke up, "Perhaps she had a miserable life and doesn't want to remember. I for one would prefer to think of the past as it's remembrance gives me pleasure. The rest I would dispose of."

"You don't mean that, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said lightly. "A full life requires both joy and pain. Besides, I distrust anyone who always smiles. They usually belong in an asylum." Beside her, she heard Darcy chuckle softly and she turned to him with a smile. "This morning I wrote a letter to my sister. I wrote down a very common word, looked at it, and for a moment didn't recognize it. Then I was sure that I had misspelled it. I had to look it up in the dictionary to convince myself that it indeed was a word and I had spelled it correctly."

Darcy nodded, "Jamais vu. Never seen."

"Precisely. Then there's its cousin Deja vu. Already seen. Some people explain this phenomenon by saying we live in a parallel universe but I don't believe that for a minute. The brain may be a remarkable instrument but it also enjoys playing tricks. But what if in the case of these anomalies the brain isn't playing tricks but is trying to unlock a memory. You referred to the brain as a well oiled machine. A machine often fails. Perhaps the brain occasionally gets its wires crossed and tries to fix itself. It picks up a word or a scent and starts running around trying to repair its circuits and make a connection.

"Really, Miss Bennet," Lady Catherine drawled, "you make our brains sound like electrical toasters."

"I read," Anne ventured softly, "that deja vu was a memory from a previous life, but I didn't think that made much sense. I confess I know little about the workings of the brain. Why, for instance, does the brain allow us to conjure up images that we know aren't real?"

Lady Catherine snorted, "It's called daydreaming. It's one way to escape reality and boredom."

"It can also be a source of entertainment," Bingley offered with a sly look at Darcy.

Elizabeth caught the look and despite her best effort, she couldn't help smiling especially when she glanced at Anne who's face had turned beet red. Now, she wondered, what kind of daydreams did that diffident young woman indulge in? Unaware that her own face had turned a rosy tint she turned her attention to Lady Catherine who was regarding her with good humor. "And you, Lady Catherine? Do you indulge in daydreaming?"

"I rely on Willie's nonsense tales to amuse me, Miss Bennet. At my age, they will have to do."

"What nonsense tales?" Darcy asked.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth said quickly," we should let Mr. Collins explain them to you. After all, he is the author. Besides, you have to have a distorted sense of humor to appreciate a story about a king who goes off to see the world in a leaky rowboat."

Anne giggled," Perhaps his brain had its wires crossed."

"You think I'm devoid of humor, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.

"I hardly know you, Mr. Darcy, so I can't judge."

"So," Asked Bingley, "did his rowboat sink?"

From the end of the table came another snort and giggle. "Yes, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth said trying desperately not to laugh. "The boat sank and the king was shipwrecked for a year. And when he was found he wasn't fit for human company. Apparently he had grown fond of eating grubs at the dinner table."

Bingley threw his head back and laughed hardily.

Elizabeth grinned at Bingley's reaction before eying Darcy. "You're not laughing, Mr. Darcy," she said saucily.

"Oh, but I am, Miss Bennet. You just can't see it."

"Now that's a frightening thought. For all I know, you might be laughing at me but I can't see it."

"There's that possibility, yes."

Elizabeth waited for him to continue but he had turned his attention back to his meal. She darted a glance at Bingley and was shocked to see him wink at her. He was either flirting or signaling that she had just had a taste of Darcy's humor.

She was still digesting the possibilities when Lady Catherine spoke softly, "It really is curious how the mind works. I've never doubted that my Robert died in the war though they never found his body. I still remember him in the bloom of his sweet youth, resplendent in his scarlet coat. But since Willie amused me with his latest tale of the hapless king and the angel who saved him, I've wondered if perhaps an angel saved Robert too. Is he still living on their cloud? Did he forget me so easily? Or did he fall to earth and has been living in a foreign land all these years? And what of the angel? Has she been searching for him all these years?" Four pairs of eyes stared at her as she rambled on. "If he found me, how disappointed he would be seeing me so old while he was still the young boy I remembered." She drained her glass and signaled for a refill, "I wonder how Willie will finish the story. It would be too cruel if the angel doesn't find him. They deserve to live happily ever after."

"I wasn't aware you believed in angels, Aunt."

"I don't, Nephew. And neither does Willie. I think the king is a man of power and the angel a woman whom he met on his travels. Willie always has his nose buried in books. For all I know, the king might represent Odysseus and the angel is Mata Hari.

"Mata Hari was shot for espionage several years ago."

"But not before the king fell madly in love with her."

"Indeed? The king seems to be a busy man. Eating grubs on a deserted island, courting a spy in France, living on a cloud with an angel. What else has he been up to?"

Lady Catherine waved her hand dismissively, "They are nonsense tales and not to be taken seriously."

"I'm not so sure they're nonsense tales. Allegories, perhaps."

"I wouldn't know an allegory if it bit me."

"Perhaps not, but I'm sure that Mr. Collins would." Darcy turned to Elizabeth, "And what say you, Miss Bennet? Any ideas you'd like to share with us?"

"Not really."

"You're not curious as to why Mr. Collins writes stories about a king who stays away from his kingdom for so many long periods of time?"

"I think you'll have to ask Mr. Collins what his stories mean."

"I intend to the minute he returns to Pemberley."


	18. PINS AND TUMBLERS

Following dinner, the women retired to the drawing room to continue the time-honored convention of allowing the men to remain in the dining room for talk and cigars. With only two men to carry on the custom she thought it a silly rite and wondered if they knew that a century ago this custom was created for the gentlemen to use the piss pots before and after their port wine? She'd imbibed enough wine at supper she could allow herself a sneer at the thought and hoped sincerely that Darcy and his guests now used the commodes like civilized gentlemen.

Now ensconced in a cushy armchair she felt numb...no doubt in part by the brandy she was attending to. Had Darcy made a threat or had he simply voiced a curiosity? Did he really mean to speak to Mr. Collins about his nonsense tales? It seemed unlikely...at least she hoped so. But why would he show an interest in some silly stories...surely he had better things to do with his time. He certainly couldn't see himself as the king who ate grubs; he had a healthy appetite for meat and potatoes. And surely he wouldn't equate a story about a king who was rescued by an angel applying to him. It was too far-fetched. Besides, as far as he knew, it had been Bingley who had rescued him.

But why had he seemed so interested in those foolish nonsense tales? Was it because he somehow related to the king who was always embarking on some foolish quest? Did he now see the war as a foolish quest? Or was it less complicated? Could it be that the stories themselves were not the focus of his interest but the man who created them? It did seem reasonable that it would pique his interest as to why a history and Latin scholar would amuse himself creating allegories to entertain his aunt.

Clever Mr. Collins was a man who knew too much. She herself had made the connection when Lady Cat had described Mr. Collins silly bedtime stories. But she had information that neither man was privy to. On the other hand, she knew that Darcy held Mr. Collins in high esteem and knew he was no fool. So did she. She'd made a mistake by taking advantage of his absence to display her own cleverness. She'd outsmarted herself. In her own defense she couldn't have expected the silliness of crossed wires and electrical toasters might slide sideways to daydreams and desire before making an abrupt shift to imagination which had led to the nonsense tales of the absent clergyman. "For tis the sport to have the enginer Hoist with his owne petar", she thought idly.

A heavy sigh escaped her. Darcy and Bingley were still in the dining room enjoying their port and Lady Catherine was in a light slumber on the adjacent davenport. Across the room Anne was at the piano playing a soft sonata while gazing wistfully at some point fixed in space; no doubt dreaming of becoming a new woman. Elizabeth hoped the task would not be beyond Lydia's expertise. And as for Lady Catherine, what dreams of yearning invaded her slumber? Hadn't forty years dulled the ache of a lost love? Was that what she herself had to endure? Was she condemned to a lifetime of longing? "Oh Smithy," She murmured. "Smithy! Where are you?"

"Penny for your thoughts."

Startled, Elizabeth looked up into the amused blue eyes of Charles Bingley. Aware she had spoken aloud, she glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief. Darcy had yet to make his appearance.

Bingley's smile broadened, "He's walking the dogs. He won't be long."

Her initial reaction was to argue with his assumption that she cared, but thought better of it. The lady doth protest too much would only lead to further humiliation. Instead, she decided to redirect his attention to Anne, "She plays beautifully, don't you think?"

He nodded with disinterest as he settled close by. "I've been admiring your pearls all evening. Someone must have loved you very much."

Elizabeth blinked. He obviously didn't wish to discuss Anne DeBourgh, but as a re-direction it seemed an odd choice. But she had nothing better to do and it seemed an innocent enough topic. She decided to play along without divulging any information about her life if that's what he was after. "I believe that's true. But what makes you think that they were a gift? Women have been known to buy their own jewelry. I'm sure your sister has occasionally bought a bauble or two. I know mine has."

"Of course, but sometimes a friend will bestow a simple string of beads on another friend as a token of his friendship and mean nothing more by the gift. Don't you agree?"

Elizabeth smiled at the old-fashioned sentiment. He really was very sweet. Yet, she wondered what on earth he was trying to say. "As you no doubt have in the past, Mr. Bingley?"

"Oh do call me Charles, please!"

"Alright, Charles. So what special bauble did you select for a young lady? And how was it received?"

"Well, I wasn't thinking of myself, exactly."

"Then who exactly were you thinking of?"

"Oh no one in particular."

Elizabeth couldn't help laughing at this convoluted thinking process. It was no wonder that Darcy and Richard found his company so hilarious. "That won't do, Charles. Each woman is different. Some women want diamonds and others would prefer a locket for remembrance. Take Anne, for instance. She would prefer something delicate and tasteful. My sister prefers something larger and more playful to suit her personality. Lady Catherine would want something regal to match her bearing."

"Well, take you for instance. I've noticed that you seem to prefer inexpensive beads most of the time yet you're very comfortable wearing very expensive pearls. Do you have a preference?"

Against her better judgment, she allowed the servant to top her drink as she eyed Charles Bingley with deepening interest. Despite her foggy brain, she was beginning to suspect that Charles Bingley was not just passing time in idle chatter but he had a purpose. The trouble was, she had no idea what it was. "The price of a gift is meaningless" she said. "The sentiment that accompanies it is all that matters. In my case, the pearls were a gift from someone I loved very much. As for the beads they were a Christmas gift and money was hard to come by...expensive gifts were not expected. They simply represent another time and place in my life and so are precious to me."

He regarded her with genuine sympathy, "You must have been very happy."

That cold crisp day when Smithy had shyly presented her with those glass beads was still so fresh in her memory. She remembered thinking that he seemed more like a shadow and not a man of flesh and blood. Too much was unknown about him and she feared she was in too deep. She saw nothing good coming from her attachment and feared a bleak future stretching out before her. And now in retrospect she wondered if his gift had only been a token of platonic affection and nothing more significant. "If I remember correctly," she replied, "I was miserable. The war was finally over and I no longer had an occupation. Nursing was out of the question and I was seriously considering settling down as an old maid with a few stray cats for company." She managed a wry smile, "Does that answer your question?"

"Well, of course. But I assumed...that is, I meant to say..." His words trailed off as he looked past her. He stood up and made a hasty retreat towards Anne leaving Elizabeth in complete confusion. Another sip of brandy didn't help matters.

Lady Catherine had not been asleep but simply resting her eyes as she often did when bored. But while the good Reverend Collins was an observer of the human comedy, Lady Catherine preferred to eavesdrop. From long practice she had discovered that listening, rather than the petty annoyance of having to watch the speaker, gleaned so much more information. With no distraction she could test the timbre of a voice and search for the emotion behind the words. In most cases she had to admit that her recreation had proved a study in futility but once in a while she would...in the words of Mark Twain...hit the mother lode. And so it was when she heard Elizabeth's soft plea "Where are you, Smithy?"

No stranger to the sound of heartbreak, she recognized a kindred spirit. She spared a brief glance at Elizabeth before reaching for her glass and emptying it. A servant rectified the situation immediately and she nodded her thanks. From boredom her senses had alerted and curiosity followed quickly. As fleeting as her eyes had rested on Elizabeth it was enough to recognize sorrow when she saw it. She remained quiet, pretending indifference as the two young people chatted amiably.

While she ignored the good-natured Bingley babbling about jewelry in Elizabeth's replies she sensed something slightly off kilter. What should have been desultory after dinner conversation had, in her mind, an undertone that didn't feel quite right. There seemed to be a mixture of sadness and anger in the tone of her voice. Certainly not what she might have expected from the cool Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And who was Smithy? She continued to ignore her fellow guests as Darcy approached, "I hope I didn't scare my friend away," he said taking Bingley's vacated seat.

"Oh no," Elizabeth replied. "I believe we had exhausted the subject of our converse. I can talk about jewelry for just so long."

Darcy glanced over at Bingley who was busying himself by shuffling the sheet music much to Anne's dismay. When he turned back to Elizabeth it was obvious that something was amusing him, "Sorry I missed it. I'm sure that Bingley's discourse on tie pins and cuff links must have been illuminating."

"Nothing so mundane, Mr. Darcy. We spoke of pearls versus cheap beads. He wondered which I preferred."

Once more he glanced over at Bingley. When he looked back at her his amusement had faded. "I trust he wasn't impertinent."

"Not at all. He's a very nice young man. I suppose he thought that I might help him understand how to reach a woman's heart. From what I can gather, his more recent attempt at courtship ended badly through no fault of his own. I tried to help but I'm afraid I'm not an expert in the game of love. I think I may have disappointed him."

"In what way, Miss Bennet?"

"I had no clear answer for him and unfortunately I'm afraid I might have led him to believe that a string of pearls would be more appreciated by women, rather than a string of inexpensive beads. And that isn't so. I should have added that the pearls were left to me by my grandmother who I adored, and the beads were a gift from a young man I knew only for a short time. He said they were the color of my eyes and I was flattered. I suspect the young man would be vastly amused to know that I still hold them in high regard when he has probably forgotten my very existence."

Confusion washed over Darcy's face, "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I understood that your young man had died in the war."

Elizabeth knew that the liquor she had consumed during the evening had loosened her tongue and was fast draining her brain of rational thought. She could taste the words forming in her mouth, could hear her voice whispering 'Smithy!'. She looked away and saw Lady Catherine wide awake and alert staring at her with interest. "No. He didn't die. He simply walked away one morning. He went home to his family."

"Then he was a patient of yours?"

Unwilling to deliberately mislead him, she skirted the truth, "You look surprised, Mr. Darcy. I was a nurse after all and had many patients. Your cousin, Richard, was one of them in case you've forgotten."

If he noticed her deflection, he ignored it, "And was my cousin a handful?"

"His broken ankle slowed him up considerably." Darcy's soft laughter at her reply made her heart ache remembering the banter they had shared at Longbourn. She found it intolerable and felt the need to disappear. "I think I'll disappear now, Mr. Darcy." She stood without too much difficulty and felt the room spin. She managed to reach the door and escaped with most of her dignity intact.

Lady Catherine signaled the servant for another drink and took a large gulp. She could not imagine why Darcy had shown a distinct annoyance that Bingley would inquire as to her taste in jewelry. Good grief! Surely her nephew wasn't jealous of his best friend! Then again who could guess what went through the male brain. She had tried to concentrate on the actors playing out the scene but once more they were discussing cheap beads. What was with these cheap beads? When had drawing room conversation reached this nadir? When had life become so difficult for women? It wasn't fair and as she heard Elizabeth's tone turn brittle she smiled her approval. Anger and frustration had taken center stage. And well it should! It was all so clear! Obviously some man had treated her badly. Some soldier or sailer had deflowered her and possibly left her at the altar leaving her embittered and hating all men. Her Bobby had gone off to war when he could just as easily paid a peasant to take his place. Men were all alike. Never a thought to the woman who waited behind, their dreams turning to ashes. This Smithy whoever he was should be boiled in oil. Through a haze she watched Elizabeth glide across the room and disappear. "Boiled in oil," she muttered.

"Now, Aunt," Darcy soothed helping her to her feet.

"He should be boiled in oil," she snapped.

"Who?"

"I forget. Some man. Boiled in oil. Too good for him."

"If you say so, Aunt Catherine. Now I'll call your maid."

"Boiled in oil!"

*****

The following day William Collins arrived at his destination shortly before noon and was pleased with what he saw. Elm trees lined the main street which led to the small square with its requisite bandstand. The lawn was neatly trimmed though suffering from the season. Storefronts were well-kept, its displays colorful. With Henry Bumstead set among them he'd half-expected the village to be draped in black crape but from all he could see he found nothing but a pleasant bucolic charm to the tiny village. A good place to raise a family. Of course there was a possibility that when night arrived the citizens would be armed with mirrors and silver crosses.

At the ancient inn he was greeted pleasantly and was ushered into a spotless room which overlooked the square which further pleased him for it gave him an ample opportunity to study the citizens going about their daily lives without being seen himself. He loved seeing people hustling along on their way to somewhere but eagerly stopping to chat happily with friends and neighbors. It inevitably filled him with contentment knowing that in some parts of the world people knew how to be happy. This comfortable thought soured somewhat as he thought of the evening to come. But that was hours away and he put all thoughts of Henry Bumstead away as he descended the stairs to enjoy a delicious lunch before exploring the village and the environs.

The afternoon passed at a leisurely pace as he acquainted himself with the book store and its proprietor. A man of advancing years, Mr. Cornwall was an avid bibliophile and was justly proud of the variety of books he offered his customers. Collins was delighted to meet with a man of like tastes and reluctantly left the shop with a promise to return for tea and another happy chat.

Following Mr. Cornwalls direction he found the thrift shop easily and spent another hour happily sorting though the clean and sturdy clothes. He was also highly diverted by the sweet-faced sales clerk who offered an oral history of every article he purchased. Apparently she took a kindly interest in all of the inhabitants. He'd felt a genuine remorse in telling her that he was only here on a brief stop-over at the parsonage and would not be supplanting anyone. With the old vicar nearing retirement, he suspected that the good citizens were fearful that they would be left to the not so tender mercies of Henry Bumstead.

From the good-will store he moved on to study the small estates surrounding the village. Civilization had encroached upon these farms and what had once been estates of vast acreage were no more. Just as he felt about Rosing's Park, he experienced a kind of melancholia for all the people who had lived and died in this beautiful country. What stories they could tell about the lives they led; stories which were never captured in the dry prose of a history book. At last he turned away from Netherfield and reluctantly made his way back to the book store for his tea and crumpets when what he really needed was a stiff drink to ease the loss of another age and fortify him for the evening ahead.

Three hours later William Collins sat in the Inn's private dining room eying his dinner companion with distaste. Henry Bumstead hadn't changed a whit since their seminary days except for the notable addition of alcohol which he had eschewed at school but now showed an extreme fondness for. He wondered, idly, if this idiot had read Jack London's "John Barleycorn" wherein the author opines that alcohol tricks and lures, setting the maggots of intelligence gnawing. Henry Bumstead had little intelligence to spare and he could just imagine how fat and happy the little grubs must be dining on such a specimen. What surprised him most was that alcohol didn't seem to have an effect upon his tongue. He still spoke with a staccato rhythm, ignoring commas and periods in a rush to spew his venom before anyone interrupted him.

According to this poor excuse for a man of the cloth, ninety percent of the inhabitants of this backwater village were beyond redemption; sinners and drunks, all of them. Mentally, Collins rolled his eyes but continued to smile eagerly and with what he hoped would pass for bated breath. He was actually thinking that it was a shame that the Church of England frowned on driving a stake though a sinner's heart if he misbehaved.

As the level of the second bottle of wine lowered, he was finally rewarded for his patience when Bumstead tired of maligning what he deemed to be the lower classes and began on the leading lights of the village. According to him, even these more wealthy inhabitants were defective. The local book store owner sold smut. Bumstead's mouth twisted as he went on to describe the Parisienne Monthly Magazine which was a favorite of the young girls in his parish. "Nothing but trashy stories about sexy flappers in Paris. Disgusting! And the Detective series are not much better. Young minds are being corrupted!"

"Have you read any of these stories?"

"I've confiscated too many copies to count."

Collins took a quick sip from his glass to hide the smirk that arose remembering the day that Bumstead had his Parisienne postcards confiscated. That this wretch could enjoy ogling plump ladies in their corsets and pantaloons was hilarious and had managed to sink his reputation even further. "But surely there are some good people who live in this parish?"

Bumstead shrugged, "There's the butcher who weighs his hand along with the meat he sells. The owner of the clothing store charges too much and has the audacity to display lingerie in the window of her shop."

Collins decanted the third bottle and poured a liberal amount into Bumstead's glass and went easy on his own. "Are there any working estates in the neighborhood?"

"Only one worth mentioning. Owned by a doctor who probably couldn't make it in Town. He actually makes house calls would you believe? Going into those thatched shacks to deliver another poor brat. It makes my skin crawl."

"I can believe that. My own skin is crawling just listening to you. And is this unfortunate doctor married?"

"To Mrs. Goody Two-Shoes. She runs the local good-will shop handing out free clothes to the slackers and their brats."

Mr. Collins assumed that this cretin was referring to the woman he had met at the thrift shop that afternoon. It had been a pleasant hour as she assisted him in finding suitable clothing for the children of his parish. No wonder that lady had looked so disappointed to learn he wasn't there to displace anyone. Henry Bumstead would be incapable of hiding the vicious propensities that would shame the devil, complete with forked tongue. He was a psychological misfit and should be condemned to an isolated monastery where a vow of silence was the rule. "I suppose their children are no better than their parents?"

"Two daughters and you have the right of it there...not that I've met either of them, but I've heard tales and can add two and two."

Collins couldn't contain an inward sigh. And what would two and two add to in his malevolent mind? Fifty? A hundred? "Do tell!"

"Well, the youngest is a shop girl in Town. Sells perfume and you know what that means." Bumstead didn't wait for an answer. "Perfume is for the brothels and streetwalkers who have become pervasive in our society. They steal the innocence of righteous men. Half of London should be burned to the ground. I hear that men high in government and the church actually own some of these brothels. They..."

Collins cut him short unwilling to endure a brimstone sermon. "And the other daughter? Is she as bad?"

"Worse," was the reply. "She was a nurse during the war. She washed the bodies of young men and you can just imagine the evil in such acts. And now she's living with some millionaire up north under the guise of being his personal secretary. A likely story."

"And what makes you so sure it isn't a platonic arrangement?"

"Because like all her sex she has a taste for men. It's common knowledge that a couple of years ago she brought home a soldier boy and shacked up with him. "

"Surely her parents wouldn't allow such a scandal."

"She used the excuse that he was recovering from his wounds and had no other place to go so they took him in and treated him like one of the family. Probably hoped to marry her off. Conveniently they have a small cottage behind the great house and you can imagine what went on back there."

"I suppose the family was treated as pariahs considering their disgraceful behavior?"

Henry Bumstead's mouth contorted, "The Bennets of Longbourn are treated like royalty. They forget that as a man of God I should take precedence over every citizen but..."

"What happened to the soldier?"

"He was spotted getting on the London bus one morning and was never seen again. He flew the coop. Probably left her with a bun in the oven."

Mr. Collins regarded Bumstead with more hatred than he thought possible to feel for another human being. This miserable tale had been told with such unsuppressed glee that he wanted to grab the collar from around his scrawny neck and strangle him. Instead, he smiled, "You really are the most loathsome creature. You and the devil should have a lot to talk about when you meet in hell." He stood up before adding, "You miserable son of a bitch!"

Back in his room with a large brandy for company he stood at the window and watched Henry Bumstead scurrying up the street towards the parsonage. The viciousness of that man was appalling but with his help most of the pins and tumblers had clicked into place. He knew where Darcy had been. But how he had managed to get himself from France to a tiny village in Hertfordshire defied even his fertile imagination. He couldn't fathom how it had happened. Darcy had not been at Sussex. Richard was still at the hospital when Elizabeth had resigned. Besides, if he had been in Sussex there would be no reason to hide that fact and Elizabeth Bennet would surely have mentioned it. So why the big lie? What purpose did it serve to say that Richard had found him in a French hospital unless there was a reason to hide the truth? Was it possible that Darcy had defected from the army and somehow managed to find his way back to England? Had they been lovers before he sailed to France? Was that why she had quit her job? If so, it still begged the question of how he had met up with Elizabeth Bennet in the first place? How had the two come to cross paths? And why didn't they acknowledge each other? It made no sense. Deep into the night he sought the answer with every hypothesis considered until he fell into a light sleep where he spent the night moving chess pieces around a map of England.

In the morning he set off for Derbyshire determined to stop obsessing but it was proving to be impossible. As an observer of the human condition Collins had been amusing himself by watching Darcy from the moment they had been introduced. On the surface his host appeared to be as disconnected an observer as he himself was. However, on closer observation he'd discovered that Darcy wore a mask which concealed his innermost thoughts. Where Henry Bumstead's mouth was the window to his soul, it was Darcy's eyes that showed the measure of the man. For months...from the moment Darcy had returned to Pemberley, the mask had rarely slipped but Collins had seen the pain of remembrance. He'd always assumed that he was remembering the war. But what if it was a woman? No, no! That didn't make sense. If the affair had run its course, why hire her and then pretend indifference? Could Elizabeth Bennet be so lacking in self esteem that she would come to Pemberley hoping to renew their affair? Not likely. Elizabeth was a cool and collected character. She had shredded Caroline Bingley with an amusing combination of sarcasm and irony; she had tamed the Cat with a delicate humor; and she had seen through the feigned haughtiness of Anne DeBurgh and took pity on her. Then why was she at Pemberley?

His head was spinning and as he glanced across the road he caught sight of a nondescript and very muddied sign hardly absorbing its message. It wasn't until he was half-way through the tiny village that his brain caught up and half-heartedly began to process what he had seen. Even then, his mind was too clouded to see how the weathered letters on a wooden sign could in any manner impact on him. Nevertheless he felt compelled to pull over onto a clearing once he was though Tynebourn. Out in the chilly January chill he made his way to a tree stump and sat down considering his possible options. He could get back in the car and drive home, he could freeze to death while trying to untangle the puzzle or he could stop obsessing before he went mad.

And speaking of impending insanity, a hospital cum asylum on the road to Meryton was simply too much of a coincidence. The more he thought about it the more sense it made. He remembered how he had speculated that Darcy had been much too healthy to have spent much time in a hospital. He'd gone as far as musing that he might have spent time in an insane asylum hence the reason for denying the truth of where he had been. Had he been closer to the mark than he could even imagine? 'Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange'!

Now back on the hunt he continued to sit hardly feeling the cold as he worked his way through a plausible scenario. Darcy had been injured in France and was shipped back to England. That a man of his wealth and station was not immediately put under the care of his personal physician argued that he had no identification on him. He was not recognized...possibly unconscious. But when he awoke? What then? There were only two conclusions to be made. Either he felt the need to hide from the world or he had forgotten his own identity. He could think of no reason to hide except for cowardice on the field and that was unacceptable. Darcy was no coward...he would stake his life on that. No! Loss of identity was the true culprit. He had heard of such things happening. Hysterical blindness, stress, even suicide were common enough companions of a war.

But how did Elizabeth Bennet fit it? She had quit her job at Sussex then had gone home to Hertfordshire. Was it possible that she had a friend working at the Tynebourne hospital and simply stopped in to say hello? Had she recognized him and saw an opportunity? Any mental defect was suspect. It was something to be ashamed of and a good motive for blackmail. Was that her game? Ridiculous! The very idea of the beauteous Elizabeth playing the part of a devious blackmailer brought a smile to his face. No! There had to be a simpler explanation of why she had taken him home with her. Perhaps it had something to do with his tall stature, his dark curly hair, his dimples...once more he smiled conjuring up an image of Elizabeth falling madly in love with a stranger and kidnapping him and locking him away in her cottage. Impossible...but really quite a romantic scenario. Worthy of another nonsense tale to amuse Lady Cat.

He was now in danger of frostbite and he hurried back to his car and turned on the electric car heater blessing the inventor of such travel comfort and set his course for Derbyshire. How he might use all the information he had gathered in the past two days would have to wait until he returned to Pemberley and saw the hapless lovers and how they were coping. He'd never thought of himself as romantic so why he felt the need to interfere in their lives he would never know, but interfere he would. How he would go about it with subtlety was the question but that was a problem better considered once he arrived in safety back at Pemberley.


	19. REFLECTIONS

REFLECTIONS

She was so warm and comfortable in his arms. She felt giddy with happiness. The marriage bed was a singular experience of pleasure that comes when man and woman are able to freely express their love for one another. Shyness had gone, leaving laughter in its place. But best of all were the moments that followed when their breaths were still ragged. She loved to hold his beloved face, loved ruffling his hair, loved gazing into his dark eyes seeing the love reflected in them. Oh how she adored him. So much anguish behind them. No more pain and despair. All to be forgotten or at least to be buried in a locked memory never again to be seen in the light of day.

As his face began to waver and dissolve, Elizabeth awoke with a start as a silent scream escaped her. She rolled over and clasped the pillow to her face willing sleep and the memory of the dream to return. But the dream was gone, fading quickly from her conscious memory. She heard the house stirring as the servants went about their morning chores and the feeling of loss overwhelmed her as she rolled back over to stare at the ceiling willing her tears to fade as well. Waking up had become an exercise of pain and endurance. It didn't help that she had a hangover and couldn't remember leaving the drawing room the night before.

She threw off the covers and sat on the side of the bed wondering idly if she was starring in her own ghost story. The dream, so romantic, did in no way resemble her own erotic encounter at Longbourn. She held no memories of warmth and comfort nor could she honestly say that there had been any giddiness attached to their coupling. In retrospect it had been a rather antiseptic exercise more of the mind than the body. Moments of pleasure had been displaced with her fear and dread of the future. And now she realized that he might have been in a fugue state. To him the experience could have taken on the dreamlike quality of an altered consciousness. Who was the man who had made such gentle love to her? Was it really Smithy, the man she had fallen in love with? Or had a stranger taken his place? The thought chilled her. She had to hold on tight to the knowledge that her mother had spoken to him the morning he left Meryton. He had promised to return. She had to believe that he was still Smithy when he had boarded that bus to London. If she allowed doubt to cripple her resolve she would have to leave Pemberley and put him irrevocably out of her mind and get on with her life. The thought gave her no pleasure.

By the time she was dressed and had consumed three cups of coffee and a sweet roll she felt ready to once again assume her role of secretary to the master of Pemberley without breaking into tears at the very sight of him. A final glance into the mirror reflected a different truth. Her face was drawn, exhaustion visible. She had managed to get through each day with some control over her feelings but this invasion of her sleep had clearly taken its toll. If only she could turn the clock back to that morning in the clearing. Or further back to her apartment in London when she made the decision to return to Longbourn on that particular day. How different her life might have been if she had waited a day. There wouldn't have been heartbreak coloring the last year of her life. Then again, where would he be if she hadn't made that fatal choice. The thought of him still languishing in that hospital was too awful to contemplate. Despite all the misery and loneliness she'd suffered...despite her cloudy future, she still wished him well. And God help her, she still loved him.

She left her room and slowly approached the landing with some trepidation. She didn't really believe in ghosts but occasionally allowed her imagination to run wild. She wouldn't have been surprised to find the Darcys had left the portrait and were floating around the estate terrifying the servants. But no, there they were, frozen in time as they had been for the past hundred years. Elizabeth fixed her eyes on her namesake studying the secretive smile on the subject's lips. Whimsically she wondered if that long dead mistress was mocking her or possibly sharing a secret with her. Did she desert her place in another age as the clock struck twelve? Did she beckon her lover to follow her? Were earthly pleasures denied them in the afterlife? Had their passion been so intense that they felt the need to renew their vows of love each night for eternity? Was she simply a witness to their love? Was she finally losing her mind? She laughed softly at the thought. Indeed, it was possible. She was so focused on her flight of fancy that she didn't hear his approach until he was upon her.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet. And may I ask what so amuses you about my ancestors?"

She whirled and felt her knees weaken seeing that sweet smile regarding her. Smithy? Her throat tightened before she could voice the thought. Her only excuse for what followed next was that she was still living in another age. To her absolute horror, she executed a precarious curtsy, "Mr. Darcy", she croaked.

To her utter mortification Darcy reached out a hand to steady her, "Rise, Miss Bennet. We don't stand on ceremony here at Pemberley."

"Very funny, Mr. Darcy," she spat at his obvious amusement. "As a matter of fact, I have a trick knee," Her face burned at the stupidity of the lie. She managed to straighten up determined to retain her dignity, "I curtsy to no one including the king."

"And certainly not a king who is neither well-read nor well-educated and has not contributed to enlightened social converse." He stopped uncertainly, frowning in confusion. "I don't know where that came from. A political cartoon, I suspect."

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at him, remembering the day she had said those exact words to him on Oakham Mt. during an argument about the Monarchy. "I couldn't have said it better myself", she replied.

"Oh dear. Have I invited a republican into my house?"

"I haven't decided. I just enjoy a good debate. But I'm harmless. I'm much too busy to practice anarchy."

He threw his head back and laughed hardily, "How reassuring," he managed. He continued to regard her for a long moment before making his excuses.

Unnerved by this exchange she watched him descending the stairs listening to the sound of his footsteps receding. She returned her gaze to the portrait half-expecting to see the lovers rolling their eyes at the nonsense that had just taken place. A hundred years ago such silliness between a man and woman would probably not be tolerated. Courtship would have been smooth, suffering no angst. Only in this century was girl to meet boy, girl loses boy, then spends the rest of the story wondering why boy doesn't come to his senses. How she envied the couple in the portrait.

//////

Lady Catherine had no memory of leaving the drawing room the evening before. Not that it mattered. She seldom remembered the night before. Nor the days following. Time was a vacuum of nothingness. She took no joy in contemplating the time to come. She could see only a bleak future full of fear. The day was coming when Willie would leave for Kent and never return. In the past few weeks she had sensed his restlessness and knew it was only a question of time. He wanted to see the world outside of England and now that most of Europe had recovered from the devastation wreaked by the great war she sensed his longing to break free of his past. Not once had he intimated that she would make a fine companion on his journey into the future and she did not dare raise the possibility...not that it was beneath her dignity...but for fear of causing him embarrassment and pain at his probable rejection.

Standing before the full-length mirror she gazed sadly at her reflection wondering why she had wasted her time on earth. Children were ignorant of their mortality but adults surely gained a wisdom of the world and came to realize that life could cease in a fraction of a second. So why had she squandered her time in useless dreaming of the past and future and had ignored the present while her spirit was alive and aware? How much time was left to her? And why did she still continue to be fixated on another time and place?

Her heavy sigh brought attention to her maid, Fanny, who had been diligently fastening the two dozen covered buttons on the back of Lady Catherine's bodice. "Now, now, M'Lady." She stood up and met her mistress's eyes in the mirror, "Mr. Willie will be back this evening. Then you can stop pining. He wouldn't have called to tell you he'd be delayed if he didn't plan on returning. You worry over naught."

"Yes, I expect he'll return tonight but one day he won't. Then what? You've served me faithfully for thirty years, Fanny, but one day you will leave me too and I'll be left to fend for myself. And as you've pointed out to me on more than one occasion, I don't fend very well." Two old friends shared a wry smile. Fanny knew more about her than anyone alive. She alone knew the truth behind the supposed riding accident she'd suffered as a young woman. If the family had learned of her miscarriage she'd have been locked in the attic or sent to a home for wayward women. Instead, Fanny had hid the truth from the family swearing she had seen the accident, never once alluding to the secret assignations her mistress had been having with her dear Bobby. Lady Catherine regarded her friend with affection, "We've come a long way together, Fanny. You must be exhausted. I know I am."

"Fiddlesticks! I'm alive and kicking and you are still a handsome women and have many years left."

"Remind me to have your eyes examined when we return to London."

"And when will that be, M'Lady?"

"Bored with the country?"

"I'm a servant, M'Lady. We are not allowed to be bored." Fanny ignored the unladylike snort from her mistress, "What about Paris? It's been years since we visited France."

"What on earth would we do in Paris?"

"Visit with old friends. Sip coffee on the boulevard."

"And watch the world go by?"

"You're doing that here at Pemberley and there really isn't much to see."

Lady Catherine couldn't argue that fact for it was true enough. She'd left the city for one purpose only. She'd deluded herself into believing that she could convince Georgiana to purchase the Rosing's Park estate for her. That had ended in disaster as Willie had predicted. She should have listened to him. Her taste for hard liquor had undone her. Reason had flown out the window. Now she dared not broach the subject with her nephew...at least not when sober. And that was rare...too rare. How had she ended up like this? Could she continue to blame Bobby for getting himself killed so many decades ago? Foolish, foolish woman!

Fanny had been studying her mistress and saw that moment when self-loathing crossed Lady Catherine's face and steeled herself for the usual request for a glass of brandy. There were times when her affection for this woman she had served for all of her adult life turned to bitter exasperation. Lady Catherine had been born with wealth and high credentials yet she had found no happiness. She, on the other hand, had been born into servitude with a dull gray future stretching before her, yet she had come to terms with it and thought of herself as happy. And why not? As a lady's maid she had risen above the other servants, had lived in several beautiful mansions, had once traveled on the continent and had become a trusted companion to her mistress. The one thing she had not had in her life was a man, and considering the pain inherent with such a connection, she felt herself blessed. As far as Rosing's Park was concerned, it was nothing but pie in the sky. Lady Catherine's power of concentration had never been reliable. The possibility that she would find happiness living in a tiny village was laughable. She would always find reasons why she was miserable.

"I wonder if it still rains in Paris during April? May or June might be better."

Shocked out of her reverie, Fanny stared at her mistress. Was it possible? Could Lady Catherine actually consider leaving Pemberley? Or was it just a passing thought which would be forgotten by nightfall? Instantly, she decided to discuss the possibilities with Reverend Collins. He just might be the key to raising Lady Catherine's spirits. It had the added benefit of discerning whether he planned to leave England in the near future and if he was, whether he contemplated taking lady Catherine with him.

//////

When Bingley wandered into Darcy's library later that day he was in a good mood. One brief glance at his host's face indicated that Darcy could not say the same. Beside him a half dozen books lay strewn in an untidy mess on the floor and he was drumming his fingers on an unopened book lying on his lap. "Having a bad day, Darce?"

Darcy looked up and stared blankly at his friend, "What?"

"I said, it's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed, "It's gray and dull and there's a storm on the way."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Bingley poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Darcy before settling down with a satisfied grunt. "I missed you at breakfast this morning." When Darcy didn't respond, Bingley threw a glance at his friend. His bland expression was greeted with a cool appraisal and continued silence. Bingley forged on, "I was disappointed not to see Miss Bennet either. I don't suppose you've seen her, have you?"

"Why do you ask? Do you feel the need to impress her with more of your scintillating conversation? Perhaps you need more information on her preference for jewelry."

With difficulty, Bingley suppressed a smile. "I'll ignore that snide remark. Besides, I got all the information I needed last night." After a moment of reflection he added, "Charming creature, don't you think? As a matter of fact, I thought I'd ask her to the tea dance at Lambton this Sunday afternoon."

"You wish to inflict the two-step on another hapless victim? Or have you moved on? I just can't wait to see you unleash your prowess for the turkey trot on the unsuspecting populace."

Bingley waved a hand in dismissal, "You're just jealous of my formidable skills and it's your own fault. You simply refuse to practice. You stalk around a dance floor like a caged tiger ignoring all the young ladies who would be delighted to ease your suffering."

Darcy snorted. "Do I really look like I'm suffering?"

"I've seen happier expressions on your pond fish, but don't change the subject."

"I wasn't aware there was one. Enlighten me. What's the subject?"

"Do pay attention, Darcy! The subject is me! I've been told I cut a magnificent rug on the dance floor; a display of expertise and manly grace."

"Richard was joking when he told you that. You have no sense of humor!"

"On the contrary. My sense of humor is alive and thriving, but enough of my terpsichorean skills. It was a wonderful evening, didn't you think?"

"Indeed it was. I particularly enjoyed the look on Anne's face when you managed to slide several sheets of music onto the keyboard while she was playing. Or was it when Elizabeth declared she wanted to disappear and did. And of course, the highlight was when I had to carry my aunt to her boudoir as she babbled about boiling some man in oil."

Bingley ignored the sarcasm. "Glad you were so amused. It makes a nice change from your usual somber mood. I know you're only Miss Bennet's employer and have no amorous feeling for her but surely you can relax occasionally and show her how charming you can be. I know compared to me and my natural ebullience it must be a daunting task but you must try."

"Your natural ebullience? Have you been at the cooking wine?"

"With Richard returning today I fear you're going to be overwhelmed at dinner tonight. He has such a sparkling wit, and such a flair for the well-turned phrase that I'll have to be on my guard."

"Richard wouldn't recognize a well-turned phrase if it rose up and bit him on the arse."

"I can't lose Miss Bennet now that I've found her."

"Well, if you're certain that she's the one for you I'll do everything in my power to forward your suit. I'll spend the rest of the afternoon listing all your attributes. I'm sure you have one or two."

"I knew I could rely on you. After all, what are friends for?" Bingley stood up and straightened his waistcoat. With a pleasant smile he nodded to his friend and sauntered from the room.

Darcy waited until Bingley's footsteps had faded before allowing himself the luxury of a broad smile. He couldn't imagine what Bingley was up to with this latest silliness but he had his suspicions and as usual, Bingley's cunning plan provoked nothing less than hilarity.

Unfortunately, his amusement didn't last long. Bingley had inadvertently hit a nerve. Now well into his twenty sixth year and still without a life partner, his days seemed at times to be endless, exhaustion filling his nights. Darkness hung like a pall, his sheets became a shroud, and loneliness his only companion. Sleep evaded him only allowing moments of twilight when shaded memories called him awake to weep bitterly at his loss. He felt defeated and dreaded the coming light when his agony would begin anew.

In the first few weeks after his return he had slipped into his old routine and found the familiar habits comforting but as the weeks stretched into months he realized that he was no longer the same man who had deserted Pemberley. He lacked fire and determination. Where he had once utilized a hands-on approach, he was now content to deliver instructions from his office and wile away his free time with a book. His restlessness gnawed at him. He felt an intense desire to escape his duties. Before the war he would never have contemplated such an idea so what was wrong with him? He could not possibly desert the estate...at least not without an heir. And an heir called for a wife. And how could he possibly commit to a woman when he couldn't remember an entire year of his life?

Where had he been all that time? And what had he been doing? He had to have been living in the country. The antidotes he had written indicated that. They also indicated a knowledge of the vicinity that reached deep into the past and were both serious and amusing. It meant spending long hours in the company of someone who knew the area well. Who had befriended him? And why? Who would take in a stranger who had no memory? Or had he created an alternate persona? There had been no calluses on his hands when he had regained his memory so he hadn't farmed nor was any manual labor involved. He assumed that the thick scar at the base of his skull was the reason for his loss and he had taken to pressing the ridge hard against his skull in a vain attempt to stir the ashes of the past. He had even considered throwing himself in front of an automobile if that would aid in jarring his memory. Happily, morning's sobriety returned common sense.

Absently he reached into his vest pocket and began to worry the black disk which was his only connection to the past he'd lost. He stared hard and long at the letters etched in the ebony. Smithy. A name perhaps? Certainly not one he would have chosen for himself. Someone had given it to him. But why not simply Smith? Why Smithy? Smithy seemed more like a term of affection. Had they formed an attachment to him? Did they miss him? Was there a woman? Had he been happy with his situation?

He saw no way out of his dilemma. Months had elapsed since his awakening in the Cambridge apothecary. His pride had failed him. He'd left it too long. They would never be able to trace his whereabouts during that lost year and he could not see his future without that knowledge. He'd come home from the war determined to pick up where he had started. Now he felt like a hypocrite paying lip service to the goals he had set for himself. He was no longer interested. He wasn't interested in anything. Now to add to his woes the headaches had returned.

The room had darkened with the approaching storm which perfectly matched his mood. Why couldn't he be more like Richard who seemed to be getting on with his life? Except for brief moments of melancholia when he attended the funerals of men he had served with, his cousin had regained his spirit. He was living in the present and preparing for the future. He, on the other hand, could do neither. He was caught in a past he couldn't remember.

Even Bingley was able to cast off his sense of disappointment. Bingley had mended his broken heart with unseemly haste proving what the family had known for years; his passion for Anne had been a figment of his imagination. As for Anne, a subtle alteration in her demeanor had taken place. She had finally found her voice..which had silenced Lady Catherine. Was the fledgling ready for flight? It was certainly time. She'd been in the nest way too long.

He still had reservations concerning his aunt. Without the support of William Collins she had shown a distinct lack of control and he suspected that Mr. Collins would not always be around to rein in her thirst. That good man had his own life to lead. Where that life would lead him was anyone's guess but he felt sure it wouldn't be back to the Hunsford parsonage for much longer.

So many changes had taken place in less than a month. And as he thought on it, he realized these changes had begun to take shape with the arrival of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. A strange young woman. Educated and by the look of her clothes a moneyed young lady. So why had she closeted herself so far away from civilization when London, Paris or Rome would better suit her? Was she too suffering from loss, unwilling to let go of the past?

She struck him as self-sufficient and clever. She was pleasant to look at. Actually, she could be considered as pretty, in a pert and saucy way. Her eyes were her best feature. Dark, long lashed, she seemed to look through him at times. Other times she stared off in space as though to deny him her attention. That, of course, had to be a figment of his own imagination. Why would she avoid looking at him? Unless there was someone else. Richard had assured him that they were just friends and surely Bingley was out of the question and knew it. Mr. Collins? Nonsense! As much as he admired William Collins, he could not imagine such a beautiful creature becoming enamored of the cleric. Darcy finished his wine and stood up abruptly. And just when had Elizabeth gone from looking pleasant to a beautiful creature? Good grief!

//////

Richard drove slowly, his eyes on the road , his mind still back at Durham. His attendance at the sixth funeral in the past year had unnerved him more than the first five had done. Hearing the rasping struggles for air suffered by men caught in the mustard gas attacks had signaled the inevitable demise for so many men. He knew that it was just a matter of time before the ravage of destroyed lungs would bring their final release. But suicide was another thing entirely. Why a man of twenty four who had everything to look forward to in his life would choose to end it by blowing off his face was beyond his comprehension. If he had been scarred or maimed he might have been able to understand such a decision. But nightmares? Memories of horror invading his sleep? Was that enough to give up on life? If so, when does it end?

Eight million dead in the war. Two million maimed. An entire generation of men dead on foreign land and all for the wrong reasons. There had been no animosity between England and Germany. There was however, a friendship between her allies, France and Russia. When those two countries declared war on Germany the British Empire was forced to join them. Small island nations can never afford to anger her old and much larger friends. The conflagration grew as German territories halfway across the world joined the conflict. As a professional soldier he had studied the art of war and knew quite well that no good would ever come of it. With the Treaty of Versailles all his fears were realized. Germany was penalized the cost of the entire war. Economists estimated that it would take Germany at least seventy years to pay this debt. Wiser men knew that this punishment was too harsh. The people would suffer for what their governments had forced on them. The war to end all wars was nothing of the sort. It was only a question of time before the people would revolt and with the technological advances in warfare, their revenge would be brutal. And millions more would die.

Further dark thoughts of the future intruded until he passed the old gatehouse that led onto the Pemberley estate. The very sight of his home away from home invariably lightened his mood. There was nothing he could do to change the past and he wasn't one to dwell on it. From now on he would not feel obligated to attend any more funerals. Letters of sympathy would have to do. As for the future, he would only be a spectator now that he was out of the army. With spring on the horizon his fancy was turning lightly to thoughts of love. It was time to enjoy life and maybe even find a wife.

As he stepped out of his car the heavens opened with a heavy rain that threatened to drench him as he ran for the stairs. A servant came running down towards him carrying two open umbrellas which lifted him off his feet as a brisk wind blew up the steep steps. He steadied the man but couldn't contain his laughter. Living could be so much fun if you would only allow yourself its various pleasures. Both men were soaked to the skin but laughing hardily as they finally made it to safely into the house.

The incident raised his spirits even further as he skipped up to his room. If he remembered correctly there was a dance at Lambton coming up. A perfect chance to check out the local beauties and possibly tease Anne and get another rise out of her. He liked the way she was showing some backbone. She might even prove to be a worthy opponent now that she had finally released Bingley from any obligation he might feel after courting her for the better part of two years.

As for Nurse Lizzie, they were destined to be only the best of friends. There had never been any sexual tension between the two of them. They had met under the most difficult conditions. He had been in agony and shock while she had been suffering from exhaustion and depression. It hadn't been a setting conducive towards romance. When he had met her later in London he had hopes that with time she had regained some liveliness but it wasn't to be. She proved to be a delightful dinner companion but he had sensed an underlying sadness that had not been with her in Sussex. There had been moments when he sensed that she wished to confide in him but on the very brink had retreated. He didn't probe. He trusted that when she was ready, she would reveal what was troubling her. That time never came and he began to doubt his senses.

Now, here at Pemberley, he hardly recognized the woman whom he had known in Sussex. She seemed so altered. Once more he wondered what had so changed her? Was it possible that she had a broken heart? He himself had never been in love so had no idea of the anguish suffered by unrequited love. Neither had Darcy...or at least he had never seen his cousin in love. On the other hand, he'd gone missing for a year. No telling what he'd been up to. Was it possible to be in love and not remember it? It should make for some interesting table talk.


	20. IMPRESSIONS

IMPRESSIONS

After a quick wash up and a change of clothes, Richard headed downstairs in search of his cousin only to discover that Darcy had driven into Lambton. He was however, in luck to find Bingley in the billiard room setting up shots. After the grief he'd left behind in Durham he was in the mood for some fun. A game would fill the bill nicely. He took a cue from the rack as Bingley tossed his onto the table. "Richard! Glad you're back. I wanted to talk to you before Darcy gets back from town."

Richard rolled his eyes, "Can't we play and talk at the same time? I swear, Bingley, it's time for you to learn to do two things at a time. It might come in handy if you ever get lucky."

"What?"

"Oh never mind. I'm afraid I forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

"Well try to focus. I want your undivided attention."

"Sounds ominous. What has my cousin done now? Tell me he hasn't been out tipping cows on the estate?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Richard. He's much too sensible to try such a dangerous prank."

"I agree. We'd have to very drunk and in serious danger of getting a whipping by his father. But enough of my fond memories of a careless youth. Get on with it. What has he done?"

"Do be serious, Richard. I think Darcy's in love."

"Indeed? And who's the lucky lady?"

"Miss Bennet, of course."

Richard paused in thought considering the possibility. "Why do you think so?"

"Because he can't keep his eyes off her. And this morning I was about to leave my room when I heard the two of them talking on the landing upstairs. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I heard him laughing. And that's the second time I've heard him laughing at something she said. It's always a good sign when a lady can make a man laugh, don't you think?"

Richard bestowed a kind smile on his young friend. "Indeed it is. But granted I've never seen my cousin in love, and as much as I'd like to believe he's getting on with his life, I doubt if laughing at a couple of jokes means he's smitten. And wishing won't make it so, Charles."

"I know that, Richard, but we both know how unhappy he's been since we brought him back to Pemberley. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he can finally put it all behind him? Even when we go the theater to have some fun he eventually pulls out that damned key and rubs it as if it can unlock the past. He has a terrible time sleeping; I've even heard him crying out in the middle of the night. I feel so sorry for him. I want him to be the way he used to be. I want him to be happy again. I feel guilty. We should have done something!"

"I know, Charles, I know." And Richard did know. There were moments when he thought his heart would break over his cousin's grief. It didn't help reading obituaries about veteran suicides either. They had made a grave mistake in not hiring detectives or at least making an effort to find where he had been and who had taken care of him. And knowing him as well as he did, he should have known that Darcy would never rest until he knew all. He should have recognized the fact that Darcy was incapable of making a rational decision in his emotional state. He had failed his best friend.

Bingley poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Richard. "After dinner last night he went out to walk the dogs and I had a chance to chat with Miss Bennet. I was trying to find out if there was a man in her life. When he came in and saw us with our heads together I swear he positively glared at me."

"Glaring is part of my cousin's persona. But tell me what you learned from Miss Bennet. Is there a man in her life? Did she lose someone in the war? I confess that Miss Bennet is not quite the open book I knew in Sussex. By the time I met her in London, something had altered her. She was as charming as ever, but I sensed that it wasn't as effortless as it had been in Sussex. But of course who hadn't changed during those four years of hell and I didn't wish to impose on her by asking questions which would bring her pain."

Bingley shook his head, "I don't think she lost anyone in the war. I gather that she briefly knew a young man who was visiting in the area and he gave her a necklace for Christmas before he went home. She even said that she doubted he even remembered her. She acted as if it meant nothing to her."

"Alright. So supposing my cousin has fallen for her. What's he doing about it?"

"Nothing that looks like courtship. Absolutely nothing! You don't suppose he's shy, do you?"

"Shy? My cousin shy? He's kind and brilliant. He's also cool and proud at times. But shy? I think not. Just because he doesn't plaster a silly smile of his face or hop around like a spastic clown does not make him shy, Bingley." He added with a smirk, "Not that I know anyone who acts that way."

"I'm sure," Bingley responded with a grin, "but we were talking about your cousin, not me."

"Well, yes we were. So go on. What else have you noticed about his behavior?"

"I spoke to him this afternoon. He was in the library looking gloomy and distracted. I decided to see if I could make him jealous."

Richard's eyes widened at this preposterous statement and just managed to set his glass on the table before he doubled over and fell onto one of the sofas. "And how," he sputtered between guffaws "did that go?"

Bingley waited calmly for his friend's laughter to subside. "It went very well. He knew that I could not possibly be serious. And I knew that he knew that I knew I wasn't serious but he played along."

"Slow up, Bingley. I'm trying to translate that last bit."

Bingley ignored the interruption and began to pace. "When I said that since he didn't seem interested in Miss Bennet, the field was wide open, and with your return you would be my only competition to make her my own."

Richard rolled his eyes, "You didn't expect him to believe such rot, did you?"

"Of course not. I simply wanted to see how he would react. I even went so far as to compliment you on your conversational acumen. By the way, did you know that you wouldn't know a well-turned phrase if it rose up and bit you on the arse?"

"Yes. Everyone knows that. Get on with it. What did he say?"

"Nothing much. But I got the distinct feeling that he could dismiss me as a suitor but you, apparently, are a horse of a different color. I tell you, he's in love or close to it."

"And what of Miss Bennet? Is she in love too?"

Bingley stopped pacing and looked slightly confused. "Well, she's always looking at him."

"You can say that about half the women in London."

"But not the way she looks at him."

"And how does she look at him?"

Bingley shrugged, "I can't really say. We both know I'm not an expert on what a woman is thinking. But there's something odd about the whole thing. She looks at him until he looks at her and then she looks at the ceiling or the carpet. When he deigns to speak to her she is very polite but her eyes move all over the room...everywhere but at him. It's unnatural! They should be looking at each other at the same time, don't you think?"

Richard chuckled, "I would think so, Bingley. I must say that you've become quite the observer."

Bingley shrugged, "I have nothing else to do. Anne and I are over before we really began and I have nothing else to occupy my mind."

"Maybe it's time for you to look for your own happiness."

Bingley shrugged "First things first. Just promise me that tonight you'll try watching her when he isn't looking at her."

"Has it occurred to you that it might be a simple case of lust on his part? Or on her part as well? And being a well-brought up lady her thoughts embarrass her?"

"Good grief, no! Miss Bennet isn't that kind of woman. She isn't Caroline!"

"No, she isn't. When God saw what he had done he broke the mold. One Caroline was enough. But don't sell gentlewomen short, Charles. They feel lust and passion just as we do."

"Well," Bingley responded with a wry smile, "I'll take your word for that. In the meantime, promise you'll pay particular attention to the two of them. See what you make of it."

"I'll do my best, Charles."

As he slipped quietly into the drawing room the first thing Richard noticed was that Darcy was standing at the window as usual. What was not so usual, he had not turned his back to the room, but was facing it and staring across the room at Elizabeth who was staring at some invisible spot on the carpet. William Collins was listening politely to whatever Lady Catherine had to say but it occurred to Richard that his attention was actually focused on Elizabeth also. Something of a similar nature was taking place between Anne and Bingley. He was talking quietly while she listened politely though his attention seemed to be focused on Darcy. No one had noticed his entrance so he continued to stand at the door and watch the scene. It crossed his mind that he would have liked to have had a photograph of the actors so he could study it at his leisure.

As he was conjuring up something clever to say, he caught the moment when Darcy lowered his eyes to the fascinating carpet and Elizabeth raised her eyes immediately and stared at him for a long moment before glancing away and saw him standing at the door. It took a moment for Elizabeth's smile to develop as she stood up and approached him.

She was a vision in soft mauve and Richard couldn't resist. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, "How are you doing, my dear?" He whispered. "Have my relations been behaving themselves?"

"Models of decorum."

Richard glanced over at Darcy who had turned his back on the room, "And is my cousin working you hard?"

"One or two letters to type every day. I'm the highest paid lay-about in the country."

Richard nodded, "Yes, he does seem to be without ambition lately. Perhaps he's in need of a wife. That might liven him up a bit." He watched for her reaction and wasn't disappointed.

Her face drained of color and she looked across the room at Darcy, struggling for control. "I suppose that might be an answer to what ails him. On the other hand, it might do more harm than good. Unless he can forgive himself for surviving the war when so many men didn't, marriage might exacerbate his condition."

"Do you think that's his problem? That he feels guilt?"

"It's only a guess. I didn't know him before he went to France so I can't judge how changed he was when you found him in that French hospital." She raised her eyes to his before adding, "What else could cause him to be so depressed?"

A moment of uneasiness touched him as he regarded those miraculous emerald eyes. On the surface it seemed like an innocent question yet she studied him so intently he doubted his senses. Had she guessed at part of the truth? He had no way of knowing what information Darcy might have inadvertently imparted to her when they were alone in his office. She had dealt with soldiers who had memory losses and might have picked up certain clues from Darcy. Did she also realize that Darcy was in love with a ghost? If so, he had to warn Elizabeth to take care of her own heart. She had become very dear to him and he couldn't allow her to be blind-sided by the true condition of his cousin. Richard was sorely tempted to tell her the truth. He had finally reconciled himself into believing that Darcy's real problem was a woman in his past; a woman he couldn't remember. He'd lost his heart in that forgotten life and he wanted it back. Knowing how his cousin's mind worked, Richard knew that Darcy would settle for nothing less.

On the other hand, perhaps he was worrying over nothing. Maybe he should simply let nature take its course and stay out of it. At least he had learned something that should please Bingley. Darcy was definitely smitten with Miss Bennet. He had never seen his cousin look so interested in a woman. However, it might not be as promising as they both hoped. He wasn't sure what Miss Bennet thought of his attention. It was his experience that when a man stared at a woman, she didn't reciprocate by staring at the carpet. What was even more curious was the fact that she was aware of the moment he lowered his eyes and immediately raised hers to gaze at his shuttered face. Surely that was an indication that she was aware of his regard yet chose not to respond. He had yet to determine what emotion washed her face as she allowed her eyes to rest on him. It might have been pity which would make sense. Or it could be sorrow which didn't.

By the time he consumed two glasses of Sherry and the dinner bell had rung his head was spinning which did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth. "Richard, are you alright?"

"Just a headache, my dear. It comes with deep thinking."

"Then I'm glad you don't do that too often. You looked positively ill for a moment."

Her teasing lightened his mood, "Take my arm, wench. I'm starving."

Dinner began quietly as the servants poured water and wine and ladled the soup. Once their hunger was appeased it was time for dinner talk. Darcy opened the conversation by asking William Collins about his trip to Kent. "I trust all is well?"

"My assistant has everything under control. He's young and eager and still believes in the church. He appears to be unaware of the corruption running rampant in that institution. I haven't the heart to dissuade him otherwise. He will learn eventually."

Bingley, naturally, was horrified, "What kind of corruption?"

"The clergy can match laymen with every sin known to man and probably more. There are few living saints, Mr. Bingley. Our holy men come from all walks of life. Many come from the lower classes and join the priesthood to simply get an education and a living. Many are devout and honest, others purely evil and greedy."

"What does evil look like, Mr. Collins? Anne asked softly. "I've read of it in books but I daresay I've never seen it. I'm sure if I had I'd have been terrified."

"He doesn't look like the Picture of Dorian Gray, Miss Anne. He can look like your neighbor, the local tradesman or your parish priest."

"I've noticed," Richard said, "that the enemy lying dead on a battlefield doesn't look like an ogre either. Take away the uniform and there's no difference between friend and foe."

"Enough!" Shouted Lady Catherine. "Surely we can find something less funereal to discuss."

"Agreed," Richard said quickly. "I prefer to speak of life and the human condition." Lady Catherine groaned and signaled the servant for a refill. Undeterred, Richard forged on. "We think we're so superior to the animals but are we?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Animals live such simple lives. Where's the next meal coming from? Who can I spend the evening with before going our separate ways without the annoyance of tears or recrimination?"

Elizabeth stared at him in shock. He had hit close to home though in her heart she knew that he was just trying to amuse. She couldn't help herself, "The story of your life, Richard? I remember a certain Nurse Butt."

"Delightful woman. Too bad she was old enough to be my grandmother."

"Indeed. But is that how men really feel about their interaction with women? Love them and leave them? And never look back?"

"I believe we were talking about animals, Miss Bennet."

"All men," intoned Lady Catherine, "are mad dogs and should be put down. Women should rule the world. Women wouldn't be so eager to start wars."

"And who," asked Darcy, "are you planning to boil in oil tonight, Aunt?"

"I can't remember his name but it will come to me. Smythe, or something like it."

"Very interesting, Aunt," Richard said with a shrug, "but back to the human condition. With few exceptions, animals don't suffer the anxiety of love, and I think that's a blessing. Can you imagine a Bengal tiger stalking around the jungle lamenting the loss of his lady love? Can you imagine him going into a deep depression ignoring all the young ladies and their daring decolletage?"

"What rubbish," growled Lady Catherine.

Anne could hardly keep her giggles contained. "And what about the tigress? Are you sure that she doesn't feel anger and hurt when she's deserted after their night on the town?"

"Perhaps," Bingley offered, "their night on the town consisted of only dining on a water buffalo before she sent him on his way."

Richard raised a brow at the unusual sarcasm coming from Bingley, but decided not to comment. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth who wanted to disappear but didn't know how without causing a disturbance. "And you, Miss Bennet? I'm sure we would all be delighted to hear any of your additional thoughts on the subject."

Elizabeth was still focused on where the name "Smythe" had come from. She had only a vague memory of the latter part of the previous evening. Surely she hadn't spoken of Smithy while in her cups. Roused from her thoughts she heard the challenge and weighed her options. She could dismiss the topic as ridiculous and refuse to speak. Or she could risk everything. "I'm not sure the subject is worthy of further discussion" she responded thoughtfully, "however, if pressed, I might wonder how you can be so cavalier in your feelings for the abandoned tigress? Has it occurred to you that his departure has broken her heart? What must go through her mind knowing that he's put her out his mind so quickly? Does she mourn his loss? Does she constantly search for him? Does she imagine she sees him moving through the tall grass only to be disappointed? When she crouches down at a pool to lap up the cool water does she imagine she can see him in the depths? And finally, Richard, when night falls does she curl up in her warm lair and weep herself to sleep?"

"Oh Elizabeth," Anne cried, "that's so sad. Do you think animals have such feelings?"

Before Elizabeth could respond she noticed that Mr. Collins was regarding her with something more than his usual bland interest. It seemed to be one of kindness though she was uncertain of why he would be looking at her with compassion unless he thought her an idiot. She withdrew her eyes from him and addressed Anne, "I've really no idea, Anne. We humans tend to anthropomorphize. My mother talks to her plants and assures me that they talk back, and my father calls one of his cars Oscar."

"My car," said Bingley, "is a lady and never lets me down. I call her Hortense."

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy who had been silent through all this nonsense but he seemed to be focused on Mr. Collins until he felt her eyes on him. He turned to her, eying her with sympathy, "Miss Bennet, you would do well not to listen to a word my cousin says. He doesn't take into consideration that the tiger might have planned to return but he was injured and when he mended couldn't find his way back to her. The jungle is vast and he might have gotten lost and still pines for her."

"This is sillier than one of Willie's nonsense tales," Lady Catherine said with authority.

"I think it's romantic," Anne said.

Elizabeth continued to look at him, searching his eyes for recognition or at best some kind of knowledge that he knew her but after a moment he turned from her and addressed William Collins. "Anne asked you a question which you didn't answer, Mr. Collins and I'm rather curious. With the advances in warfare a soldier seldom sees the enemy. Even with bayonet attacks the eyes are not what you focus on so I don't believe I've ever seen the face of evil."

"What one would call evil, another might shrug and laugh off. Perhaps I was overstating."

"I doubt that, Mr. Collins. Except for these nonsense tales I keep hearing about, I believe you have your feet planted firmly on the ground. I think I can safely trust your judgment."

There was a long pause as Mr. Collins seemed to be choosing his words. "While in Kent I came across a name I thought I'd forgotten. He was a first year student at the seminary where I was indentured."

"Indentured?"

"A harsh word I know, but it was how I felt. I had no leanings towards the church and I had good reason not to. However, I happily embraced my fate for it was my chance to escape from another kind of bondage. It gave me an excellent education and another view of the world. I paid my entry fee by mopping floors and preparing food for the staff and students. In my last year another young man joined me in servitude. We should have been kindred spirits having the same background. But it wasn't to be. He proved to be a contemptible creature and quickly gained the reputation as a tattler and though it was never proved, a thief. Students treated him with scorn and shunned him. Unfortunately we shared the same duties so I couldn't avoid his company. I despised but tolerated him for I had my own agenda. I was there to study and couldn't indulge in petty quarrels so I treated him with polite indifference. For some reason, he seemed to think that my disinterest in his woes was a sign of friendship. This rationalization deepened when I assured him that the plot to castrate him was only a rumor."

Bingley choked on his wine, "Good grief", he finally managed, "what kind of seminary did you attend?"

Mr. Collins shrugged, "I dare say it was like every other seminary in the Kingdom. Full of angry young men as well as the pious."

"You were saying," Darcy said, "that you came upon his name."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy. I did. It surfaced in the Seminary Digest which my assistant subscribes to. To say I was shocked is an understatement. I found it hard to believe that he had remained in the church. It's my opinion that misanthropes don't make good priests."

"Is your opinion based on personal experience?"

Mr. Collins smiled with no humor and nodded. "So", he continued, "I rang him up and invited him to dinner the following evening. Remembering what a greedy little miser he had been, I naturally I assured him that dinner would be on me and that I would supply the wine from my personal cellar. He agreed with alacrity, overjoyed to hear from his good friend and looked forward to chatting about the good old days when our hearts were young and gay. I suspected that he had been dipping into a wine barrel for my memory of the good old days was studying for eight hours followed by four hours of scrubbing and polishing endless marble halls. The following morning I arrived at a pretty little town not much bigger than a village. Fully expecting the inhabitants to be dressed for mourning, I was pleasantly surprised to receive nods and genuine smiles as I strolled the streets."

Elizabeth sat in fascination. For all the time she had spent at Pemberley this was the first time Mr. Collins seemed so willing to speak. And tonight was the first time she had seen him wearing civilian garb. She wondered idly if the change in costume had something to do with his altered demeanor. Gone was the solemnity of a black suit and collar. In it's place was a relaxed individual who perhaps had made his decision to leave the past behind. How Lady Catherine would take this defection was hard to say. She seemed lost in her own memories, hardly listening to his description of how he had spent the previous day. Everyone except Darcy was listening politely but not neglecting their meal. Darcy, on the other hand had laid down his fork and was listening intently. Why he was showing so much interest in a small village was surprising. There were hundreds just like it spread all over England; Lambton for example. A small inn that had stood the test of time with only an occasional update for the modern amenities but still careful to retain it's old world charm for the tourists; the local bookstore offering books and magazines and a small rental section where the natives had the opportunity to read the latest novels. Across the green he strolled, stopping long enough for a brief description of the bandstand. She was hardly listening. It was only after Mr. Collins entered the thrift shop and began to describe the friendliness of the clerk and how helpful she'd been in finding suitable clothing for the children in Hunsford that Elizabeth began to really listen.

She attempted to catch the cleric's eyes but he seemed to be far away in his memory. "Percentages of death in a large city," he continued, "pale to insignificance when those same percentages are applied to a tiny village tucked away in a corner of the country. The pestilence that descended on them took it's toll on the very old as well as the innocents who had hardly taken their first breath before death claimed them. And young men died on foreign land in a war they didn't understand." He paused to collect his thoughts. "Most of what I learned that afternoon came from the owner of the book store. He is an octogenarian and self-appointed historian who very generously shared his tea with me. He also shared stories of great generosity of spirit. Despite the horror and pain suffered by so many people there was always some family less fortunate then they were so the good people banded together and became as one. No child went to bed hungry, medicine was free as was coal for the fire. In many instances motherless children were taken in by families and treated as their own. Kindness extended beyond the village. A young woman brought home a soldier who needed rest and time to recover from his experience in the war. He was taken in by her family and was treated as the son they never had."

As a former nurse it would have been only natural for Elizabeth to ask how the soldier had fared, but her throat had constricted and she was quite sure she would not be able to speak. Her breathing had gone shallow. She reached for her glass to moisten a mouth that had gone dry, but thought better of it. She doubted she'd be able to swallow. A nervous glance at Bingley showed a man frozen in time with a fork half-way to his mouth as he stared at Mr. Collins. Beside her, Richard cleared his throat and reached for his glass of wine. Darcy seemed unaffected as he continued to focus his attention on Mr. Collins.

For his part, Mr. Collins appeared to be unaware of any disquiet at the table or if he did, he didn't show it. For the first time that evening he looked at Darcy, speaking to him directly. "So I was well acquainted with the inhabitants of the village though I had only met a few. It was only left for me to hear another version which I did and much too soon." With an ironic grimace, he added, "I was still tasting the cup of human kindness when I met with the man I hadn't seen in fifteen years. I had no hope that he had altered but I was truly shocked that a man, let alone a man of the cloth, could voice such malicious intent. He found no saving grace in any of those good people. Every generous deed was twisted into something evil. There was not a drop of kindness offered to anyone...not even for the children who chopped wood and ran errands for the widows. The man is positively evil and has no place in the church. I've considered applying to the Archbishop, but it would only bring attention to myself and I'm only a drop in a very large pond of corruption. It would take a stronger voice than mine to make a difference and I'm reconciled though I would love to be a fly on the wall if you ever confronted Henry Bumstead, Mr. Darcy. He offered an apologetic smile to his table companions, "I fear I've put a damper on the festivities and I think it's time to change to a happier subject."

"Yes!" cried Bingley. He turned to Darcy eagerly, "I for one would like to hear about cow tipping. Richard tells me that you and he were up to no good one night during your callow youth. Is it true?"

"If I remember correctly," Darcy replied, "Richard mistook a bull for a cow and the bull was not amused, nor was he sleeping."

"I remember that," Anne cried. "It caused a great row. You both got a thrashing and were sent to bed without your dinner. Your father was furious with you. I remember his shouting that such a foolish prank he could expect from Richard, but not from the future master of Pemberley. He was really very frightened to think one or both of you might have been killed."

Darcy smiled fondly at Anne. "And you sneaked up a loaf of bread and some ham and cheese later that evening. Yes, Anne, I remember."

"I remember" Richard said, "being sick for most of the night from the brandy we consumed. Ah, but those were the days."

Elizabeth felt the immediate danger had passed and began to relax. She had feared that her duplicity was about to be revealed but the clever Cleric had other plans. If Agatha Christie ever wrote another Hercule Poirot mystery she would forever visualize Reverend William Collins as the protagonist. Whether he had deliberately planned to go to Meryton when he left Pemberley or had by some stroke of dumb luck happened on the name which could lead him to Meryton without raising suspicion she had no way of knowing but it didn't really matter. He probably still didn't know why or how, but he now knew where Darcy had been and the part she had played. What he planned to do with that information she could only surmise. His lengthy description of the village and its inhabitants now made sense. He had sketched a vivid portrayal of a tiny village in Hertfordshire and the people who lived there. If this didn't stir Darcy's memory she didn't know what could. She could do no more than wait and see.


	21. EXODUS

EXODUS

Abiding by an archaic convention, after dinner the ladies left the gentlemen so that the men could talk business or at some tables, swap tales of their sexual conquests. Once the ladies had withdrawn from the dining room Darcy waited patiently while his guests discussed the merits of the various wines at their disposal as well as the excellent brandies and liqueurs. When they at last took their seats and settled back with contented sighs he addressed his guests, "I wish to commend you all for a most entertaining evening. We were all treated to an interesting variety of subjects which I dare say would never serve as proper dinner conversation at any home in London. But that is their loss and not mine for who would not be entertained by Bingley's snarling reference to being jilted after paying for a sumptuous feast on water buffalo?"

Bingley looked abashed, "I should never had said that. I hope Anne wasn't offended. I thought I was over being angry. I do apologize, Darcy."

"Apology accepted, Charles. Besides, your rebuke was mild considering the circumstances. Anne treated you poorly and you showed great restraint." He turned to Richard, "And you, Cousin, outdid yourself. I shall never again enter an assembly hall without the vision of Bengal tigers prowling the dance floor ogling all the young ladies and their furry chests."

"Happy to be of service," Richard quipped. "But let us not forget Miss Bennet's contribution. Her description of a mourning tigress nearly brought Anne to tears."

"Me too," chirped Bingley, "that is to say it was quite moving...very poetic...or something like that."

Darcy favored his friend with a patient smile before turning his attention to Mr. Collins. "And from the ridiculous to the sublime, I was happy to hear of the generosity of spirit shown by the people you met in that village you visited. It made me proud to be an Englishman. You found a saving grace despite what you expected. But what I found rather curious, Mr. Collins, is why, if you expected the worst, you went to meet with someone you despised? It seems out of character."

"Would you believe me if I said I was bored?"

"No."

Despite the abrupt reply, Mr. Collins didn't take offense as he smiled in acknowledgment. However, he didn't seem to feel the need to say anything else as he clipped the end of his cigar before lighting up and leaning back in his chair. He drew lightly and released the smoke with obvious pleasure.

Richard and Bingley shared an amused glance as they watched him, then turned their attention to Darcy who was suppressing a smile. "Mr. Collins," he said to them, "is a man of few words."

"You could have fooled me," Richard said lightly.

Darcy eyed Richard with a wry smile, "If you aren't plotting to invade a country or a lady's boudoir you don't pay attention, Cousin, so it's easy to be fooled."

"Looks," said Richard, "can be deceiving, Cuz. I agree Mr. Collins always struck me as a man of few words but tonight he showed a side that I didn't know he possessed." He turned to Mr. Collins, "So if it wasn't boredom, Sir, might you say it was on a whim? And before you answer, let me warn you that though I don't know you very well, you've never struck me as capricious."

"And I," Mr. Collins replied in obvious amusement, "understand that you were a shrewd interrogator during the war."

"If by shrewd you mean I never allowed myself to stray from my purpose, yes I was considered to be shrewd. So tell us why, Sir, despite your misgivings you went out of your way to meet with this Bumstead fellow whom you obviously despised?"

"I truly wasn't trying to be evasive, Richard. I'm simply weary of my own thoughts. To honestly answer your question I'd have to say it was a combination of curiosity and a sense of adventure brought on by too much brandy. I had second thoughts the morning after but there were other factors that preyed on my mind. If you will allow me to digress for a moment, I'd like to explain my mindset."

Richard smiled and nodded, "You're not my prisoner, Mr. Collins. Take all the time you need."

"Well then, this may not come to you as a surprise, but I've been angry all my life but it's only recently that I've come to accept it. At an early age I learned that showing any kind of emotion could be detrimental to my health, so I adopted a stoic facade. I became an observer as my life unfolded and never a participant. Not the war nor the pandemic could pierce my shell for I found succor in dwelling in the past and I was content, or at least I thought I was. Then one day I met Lady Catherine DeBough and saw myself reflected in her refusal to face reality."

Richard couldn't contain himself, "Good grief!"

"Indeed." Mr. Collins responded. "That formidable lady turned out to be the catalyst that altered my way of looking at the world I had been inhabiting for all my life. She was living in the past imagining herself as the great mistress of a decaying estate while I was writing speeches to deliver in the Roman senate...when I wasn't making up nonsense tales."

Darcy sighed, "Once more, the nonsense tales."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy. My life was so dull that I lived other lives vicariously, and my need for adventure grew. This last trip to Kent was close to agony for me. I don't want to be there any more. I don't want to preach doctrines written in antiquity. I want to live in the present, not the past. These thoughts were so heretical I felt I was losing control of my life. I needed time to think. I couldn't remain at Hunsford, nor could I return to Pemberley just yet. And too, I was curious about how Henry Bumstead had fared and whether he had changed from the man I had known as a young man. He served as a diversion. It never occurred to me that this diversion would lead me to fully understand how I had been wasting my life in mourning the past, dreaming of the future and ignoring the present. The people I met yesterday have no time to dwell in the past since they seem to be aware that it will serve no purpose. We can't turn back the clock no matter how much we might wish it. And so they keep going. They still fall in love and marry. They'll produce the next generation and life will go on." He looked directly at Darcy, "It's a hard lesson to learn. It's much easier to cling to the past. The danger is that you might lose your future. Anyway, it helped me make a decision I should have made years ago."

"And does," Darcy inquired, "the removal of your collar have something to do with your decision?"

Mr. Collins nodded. "Yes, Mr. Darcy. I've decided to leave the church and seize the day."

"Carpe diem," Darcy repeated thoughtfully. "And what form will that take?"

"Oh my," gasped Bingley. "You're not going to marry Lady Catherine, are you?"

Six startled eyes turned to Bingley in shock. "Charles," Darcy drawled, "try to pay attention."

Bingley laughed merrily, "Just wanted to clarify."

"No you're not," growled Richard. "You're thinking of how to woo Miss Bennet with your expertise on the dance floor. Turkey trot, indeed." He turned back to Mr. Collins, "You're not," he added with a grin, "are you?"

Unable to suppress his own wide grin Mr. Collins denied any possibility that he and Lady Catherine would seek to find wedded bliss together. "I have other plans for that lady."

"In that case" Darcy said, "be sure you stop by the Caffè Greco. Any Roman can direct you to it."

"It's on my list," Mr. Collins replied. "I have a feeling that a Bohemian lifestyle would suit me. It certainly would make an interesting change for me."

"I read recently that Pablo Picasso has taken up residence in Rome. If you happen to run into him, do try to coerce him into painting a likeness of my aunt. That would make a great conversation piece."

"I'll do that. I might even make a stab at writing; perhaps a story of a king and his two court jesters." As expected, his remark drew more alcohol fueled laughter from the three men. The soon to be ex-parson was delighted to be in the company of these three men. He'd never been a part of this kind of camaraderie and he wondered not for the first time how his life might have been different if he had been capable of forging any kind of friendship during his formative years. He thought it would be some kind of wonderful to have friends to laugh with, friends he could rely on. But he refused to repine the past. It was over and now he was planning the future and he wished fervently that Darcy would do the same. He had done his best to help Darcy without being intrusive. He could do no more without revealing the truth of where he had been during those lost months. Now it was up to him and Elizabeth. He offered up a silent prayer that those two young people found the happiness they both deserve.

Elizabeth sat in the drawing room wondering what the men could be talking about in the dining room. A half hour had gone by and she was cooling her heels with a glass of brandy clutched in her hand. She had to trust that Mr. Collins would not add anything significant to his description of Meryton. She'd been terrified that he would disclose the full truth of what he had learned. She'd held her breath waiting for the moment when the Bennet name would be mentioned in conjunction with the soldier who had been brought home and had been taken in by her family. Her desire to bolt and escape had nearly overpowered her, yet she had stayed, determined to accept her fate, steeling herself if Darcy turned to her in shock and disbelief. But she had been spared. Mr. Collins had stopped short. Clever man that he was, he knew that nothing good would come of it if the truth was forced on Darcy. He had to arrive at the truth by himself. Unwittingly she sighed heavily and looked up to see Lady Catherine eying her with interest.

"What is it, Miss Bennet? she asked with a sly smile. "Sighing over past sins?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and sighed once more before taking a large sip of brandy letting it slide down her throat for a moment of heated ecstasy. "That's singular, Lady Catherine. Only one sin."

"Was his name Smythe?"

Elizabeth wasn't surprised at the question. She'd been expecting something of the sort from Lady Catherine. "Not even close," she replied. "As a matter of fact, I never knew his name. He was a Gypsy dancer from one of the Balkans. His name contained most of the alphabet so I compromised and called him "You"."

Lady Catherine smirked, "And do I dare ask what he called you?"

"Miri Mulla. Or at least that's what it sounded like. I later found out that miri mulla means my corpse in Romani. There was a problem with translation, I'm sure."

Lady Catherine threw her head back laughing so hard Elizabeth feared she was in danger of suffering a fit of apoplexy. "I've never heard such utter nonsense," she sputtered after several convulsive moments. "And what," she finally managed, "happened to your Gypsy dancer?"

"He danced his way out of town one morning."

"Poor lamb," she responded with mock sympathy. "You haven't even begun to live."

"Perhaps, Lady Catherine, you've lived enough for both of us."

"I survived, Miss Bennet. I stopped living forty years ago."

"And would your Bobby appreciate all those years of mourning? Would he have mourned you for forty years if it had been you who died?"

"I shouldn't think so. There are many flowers in the garden. Where he can pluck one flower, he can find another. It is, after all, a man's world."

Elizabeth regarded Lady Catherine with something akin to fear. Was she staring at herself forty years hence, drinking herself into oblivion every night?It wasn't quite the future she had planned for herself. Exactly when does one's life derail? Had it happened at the clearing when she had taken pity on a young soldier, or was it one night in a cottage. If she had not accepted Richard's invitation to dinner, would that have made a difference in the course of her life? Or had her rash decision to come to Pemberley been the final nail in her coffin? Somehow she had to get her life back on track. This misery couldn't go on forever. She couldn't end up like Lady Catherine, bitter and forlorn.

The drawing room door swung open and Darcy and Mr. Collins entered the room. Mr. Collins approached Lady Catherine with a subdued smile. That lady regarded him with suspicion, "You know how much I dislike a man who smiles too much. What on earth has come over you?" He had no response but took his seat next to her and continued to smile.

Darcy joined Elizabeth in an adjoining chair. "Where's Anne?" he asked.

"She made her excuses and retired for the night, Mr. Darcy. She's heading for London in the morning. And may I ask where the other gentlemen are?"

"For some strange reason, they insisted on walking the dogs this evening. I'm afraid I'll have to suffice as your entertainment until they return."

"I'm perfectly satisfied. I find your company very agreeable, Mr. Darcy."

"Must you continue to address me as Mr. Darcy? As I said this morning," he added with a smile that showed his dimples, "we don't stand on formality here. My friends call me Will."

She returned his smile, "My curtsy was a mistake and you well know it."

"I do, but it was charming nevertheless. Especially since it was performed beneath the portrait of my ancestors. For a moment I thought I'd slipped back in time."

She couldn't resist. "And would you be happy to slip back in time?"

"You say the oddest things at times, Miss Bennet. As a matter of fact, the thought intrigues me. However, going back a century might be carrying curiosity too far."

"If possible, would you revisit your life ten years ago, a year, or yesterday?"

"Yesterday? Nothing remarkable happened yesterday and ten years ago I would have had nothing more ahead of me than the death of my parents and the world going up in smoke."

"And a year ago?"

There was a slight hesitation, "I have no idea what I was doing a year ago. Do you?"

She stared at him in shock. "Do I what?"

"I mean, do you know what you were doing a year ago? "I suppose you were missing Sussex. It had to be hard to give up nursing."

"It was easier than you might suppose" she replied, "I spent a year learning how to nurse and another two years taking temperatures and emptying chamber pots. I was useless and it cost me three years out of my life. I came to see them as wasted years when life passed me by. Most of my friends had moved on leaving me behind. This last year of my life has been an aimless exercise in futility." She could hear the bitterness in her voice but seemed incapable of stilling her tongue. "I used to think I had all the answers but I don't know myself anymore. Men on the battlefield are not the only ones who lose their identity. The ones left behind can also fall victim to memories of a happier time. I suppose that I eventually will find myself but I'll never be the same." She managed a crooked smile as she stared at him, "You must forgive me Mr. Darcy. I don't usually air my morbid thoughts. As for what you were doing a year ago, I imagine you were feeling happy to be home, alive and safe."

"That would seem to be a reasonable assumption. Unfortunately, the opposite is true. You just used an interesting turn of phrase that sometimes you can lose your identity. Let's just say that I was in a state of confusion. I'm aware that you know that Bingley came upon me in Cambridge. You must have wondered why Richard told you that he had found me in a French hospital."

Elizabeth decided to lighten the conversation. He had imparted enough of the truth that she could feel confident to bring up the subject later in a more private setting. "I have no idea how Richard's mind works. I thought perhaps he thought that languishing in a French hospital seemed more dignified than walking into the path of a cab."

"That won't do, Miss Bennet. You're much too astute to believe that."

"You might be surprised at how dense I can be, Mr. Darcy...William."

"Nothing about you would surprise me Miss Bennet."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Of course. But that you would ascribe dignity to my cousin is quite remarkable."

"You believe Richard to be without dignity?"

"I've never seen a trace of it."

"And yet you tolerate him."

"Of course. He is a dear friend and I am indebted to him for finding you."

"Another compliment? How am I to bear such happiness?"

Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine who demanded to share the joke. "You two are grinning like Cheshire cats. I demand to know what's so funny."

"We were," said Darcy, "discussing Richard's dignity."

"Richard and dignity? There is no such thing."

The subject and Bingley entered the room, "I heard that," cried Richard.

Elizabeth sighed. Her tete-a -tete with Darcy was over and Lady Catherine's interruption had forestalled further discussion of why Richard had lied about where he had been found. Her relief was palpable. If and when he learned she'd had a part in his missing year, she didn't want it acknowledged in a drawing room full of people. As for the short time she was able to capture his attention, she didn't know what to make of it. The moment Richard and Bingley entered the room he had left her side to station himself at the window. Exasperating man! If it had been any other man under different circumstances, she would have seen the last few minutes as light flirtation, no different than the bandying she and Smithy had indulged in while in Hertfordshire. It seemed impossible but the mother of all irony if Darcy had personal feelings for her. And what on earth would she do if he found her attractive enough to attempt seduction? Her nerves were obviously disintegrating. The mere thought of such a scene threatened to send her into hysteria. Instead, she settled for a quick gulp of brandy before dissolving into a fit of giggles. After a moment she realized that the room had gone silent.

Lady Catherine was the first to speak. "I must say," she declared, "that you are in a most peculiar mood this evening, Miss Bennet. Perhaps it was just this kind of mood that made your gypsy dance out of town leaving you so bereft."

"Gypsy?" cried Bingley, "Gypsy? Whirlwind spins? Tambourines? I wonder if I can learn to spin before the next assembly. Allow me to top your drink, Miss Bennet."

"Never mind," snapped Richard. I'll do the honors." He grabbed the brandy decanter and approached Elizabeth with a broad grin.

"Get away from me, Richard, or I'll scream." Elizabeth emitted another giggle and glanced at Darcy who was eying his friends in disbelief. She continued to stare at him until he focused his dark eyes on her and rewarded her with the sweetest smile. She couldn't be sure, but at that moment she would have sworn that he was sharing a private joke with her. With difficulty, she tore her eyes from him and set her glass on the table before standing and excusing herself.

"Must you leave us so soon?" Darcy asked softly.

She turned back to him. "Yes, Mr. Darcy. I want to call my sister and remind her of her dinner engagement with Anne tomorrow evening."

"Ah yes, of course. I too have several appointments in London tomorrow. I fear I'll be gone for several days. You'll be on your own here, Miss Bennet. If Richard or Charles become too obnoxious you have my number in town. Don't hesitate to call me if you need rescue."

Elizabeth glanced at Richard and Bingley who were grinning idiotically, "You have my assurances, Mr. Darcy. You will be the first person I call."

As it turned out, Elizabeth had no need for a rescue though she thought she might be in need of company. Both Darcy and Anne had left for London at first light and in just a few hours four more guests would be leaving.

The first to leave was Charles Bingley whom she found alone in the breakfast room. He was enjoying a hardy meal and was in excellent spirits. The thought had occurred to him that he hadn't seen the Postlewaite twins for several months. This was an oversight that he planned to correct that very evening. To his gratification his early morning call was greeted with enthusiasm by Jane who assured him that she and Charlotte would be delighted to dine with him.

Elizabeth hid a smile at the young man's new-born enthusiasm though she wondered why he would choose to dine with both Jane and Charlotte. "Do you plan to court both young ladies, Charles?"

"Oh no, just Charlotte."

Elizabeth managed to put her cup back on the saucer without spilling a drop. "Charlotte?" Elizabeth had a vision of Charlotte with smoke whirling about her shingled marcel waves as if she were about to blow her stack. She feared Charlotte would be picking Charles Bingley out of her teeth by the end of the first course. "Well, of course, I'm just a woman, but I'd have guessed you and Jane would make a better match. I know how much you like to dance and I've heard Charlotte say that she hates the amusement going so far as to state that even savages can dance."

Bingley was shocked. "She said that?"

"Well, unless I once read that in a book, I think she did. Now, on the other hand, I'm sure I heard Jane say that of all the characteristics of a man, she most admired his ability to dance."

Bingley's countenance brightened, "She said that?"

"A man who possesses prowess on the dance floor is always a desirable commodity. But I'm sure you're already aware of that."

"Er...well..."

"And I'm sure Jane would be absolutely enthralled when you display your skill as a whirling dervish."

Bingley laughed hardily, "Now I know you're teasing me."

Elizabeth laughed with him, "Turnabout is fair play, I think. But I'm serious when I say that Jane admires you. You must know that."

"What did she really say about me?"

"She said that you were everything a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humored and lively."

Her words brought a faint flush to the young man's face and Elizabeth was pleased with her attempt at matchmaking. For her part, she hadn't exactly lied to him. A woman in love surely had such thoughts about her beloved.

Richard found her an hour later in the library. It seemed that he was also heading out for a long overdue visit to Matlock Manor at the northern tip of Derbyshire. He picked up on her mood immediately. "Why so glum, Nurse Lizzie?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, "Richard," she said, "in what condition did you find your cousin after he was knocked down by a cab at Cambridge?"

To her relief he didn't try to dissemble. With only a moment of hesitation, he said, "I suppose it's time to come clean. The truth is that he had lost his memory of the past two years. According to what he could remember, he was in Arras, France when all hell broke loose. He distinctly remembered two of his friends were lying next to him, both dead, and then the scene turned blood red. After that it was all a blank until he awoke in the apothecary shop."

"And what did he do to seek out the past?"

"He didn't do anything. He was quite sure that being home surrounded by friends and family would be his best chance of remembering how he had come to be at Cambridge."

"And you went along with this reasoning?"

"Not exactly, but we really had no choice." Richard had become visibly uncomfortable. "Elizabeth, he kept talking about what he had lost. The key he had on him seemed to have more meaning than the knowledge that he could now go on with his life. I couldn't imagine what could have such an impact on him other than the possibility that a woman was involved and that would have been unacceptable."

"Would it have been so bad if he had found happiness?" she asked quietly.

"A reasonable question and for any other man in England it makes sense. Unfortunately at a very early age certain rules were instilled in him. These rules were sacrosanct. Under no circumstances was he ever to bring scandal to the family and hiring detectives would have been a mistake. There was too much danger that the truth of his condition would leak to the press. Too many people equate amnesia with insanity. Just the faintest scent of insanity would have been a monumental scandal. Darcy's face would have been plastered on every rag in the country. And what if a woman turned up? What if a dozen women turned up declaring that he had sired their babies? What if he had married some woman? It was bad enough that there would have been speculation about his sanity but if he had married some unknown woman while insane, the tongues would never stop wagging. He would have found it intolerable. The life he knew would have been destroyed forever. And suppose he hated this new-found wife? There is no divorce in this country unless insanity or adultery could be proved. Can you imagine the pandemonium that would ensue if he commanded the court for a bill of divorcement? Can you understand, Elizabeth?"

Sadly, Elizabeth had to admit that she could. "And this possible woman? Has he given her up?"

Richard smiled, "To tell the truth, I don't think she ever existed. I think what he missed was his freedom."

"I swear, Richard, you're giving me a headache. I can't imagine a man who has more freedom than a very wealthy man."

"A very wealthy man whose heritage dictated that he become a gentleman farmer whether he wanted to or not, is not free. Farming today is not what it was a century ago. Most everything is automated. You hire the best stewards to oversee the work, give orders over the phone, and if something serious occurs it will take two hours to drive back from Town. My uncle...Darcy's father...was old school. He refused to even consider allowing Darcy to pursue another career. His son's place was here at Pemberley and he refused any further discussion. When his parents died, Darcy began to buy up derelict estates out of simple boredom. The idea of building schools for underprivileged children was an afterthought; something to ease his restlessness. He once said that if he didn't use his brain occasionally it would wither away. When I heard that he had joined the army I was shocked but not surprised. I thought he must have been desperate to choose possible death to life at Pemberley."

"Yet," Elizabeth argued, "when he returned to Pemberley he continued where he left off. He's still planning to build schools. He must have found satisfaction in that pursuit."

"It's true he picked up where he had left off but I can only describe his efforts as listless at best. Now, it's with indifference which he can't hide. It holds no challenge for him. But all is not lost. In the past few weeks his spirits have lifted considerably. Something has altered him. He's beginning to smile and laugh more. In this past week he's been on the phone every night and now he's gone to Town and says he may have some interesting news for us when he returns."

Elizabeth's heart sank. "Perhaps it's a woman who has raised his spirits. An old flame, perhaps."

He glanced at his watch and stood, "Perhaps," he replied absently. "But I doubt it. If there's a woman, I'd look closer to home. And now I must be off. I've got a hot date with my own old flame tonight."

That was not exactly the reply that she had hoped to hear but dared not pursue the discussion. She walked him to his car and bid him a safe journey before returning to the house. There she learned that Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins were also setting out for a journey; he to speak with his bishop, and she to make arrangements to rent her home once Mr. Collins had separated himself from the church. They were planning to tour Europe.

The next two hours passed with a dream-like quality. Bitterness had been exchanged for a glowing happiness that made Lady Catherine seem almost beautiful. Mr. Collins didn't exactly glow but carried an aura of excitement which he was hard pressed to contain. Elizabeth watched them both through lunch with a sense of unreality. Locked in unhappiness for so many years, these two people had made a decision that would alter their lives forever. Bingley had picked up the pieces and had gone a courting and Richard...well, he had a hot date which might last til breakfast if he was lucky. It appeared to Elizabeth that this mass exodus of everyone might be an omen. Had fate determined that she should pack up her bags and leave Pemberley also? She had to consider the possibility. Maybe it was time to put the past behind her and look to her own future.

All too soon she accompanied them to their separate cars biding them both a fond farewell with a promise to keep in touch. Long after their departure Elizabeth continued to stand in the driveway. She had a decision to make. She was sorely tempted to go home to Longbourn and talk to her parents but dismissed the thought before it was fully formed. What was really forming in her mind was the resolve that if she did decide to leave the past behind she would not go without disclosing the truth to Darcy. Not to do so would be unfair to both of them. She owed him the truth and then he would be free to do whatever he wished with the information. At least with the knowledge of how they had met on armistice day and of the months following, he too could put the past behind him. Now that she was on her own, she would have plenty of time to marshal her thoughts and pen the letter which would reveal it all. But first she headed up to her room and crawled under the covers. The letter would have to wait. What she needed now was sleep.


	22. PEN IN HAND

It took Elizabeth three agonizing days and nights to write a reasonably coherent account of the part she had played in Darcy's past. With fits and starts and a brain that wouldn't co-operate, the first attempt was disjointed, garbled, and appeared to Elizabeth to be the work of an adolescent schoolgirl. Reading through the first draft her spirits descended into a kind of melancholia seeing those distant, and still so painful memories, lying on the page so dull and lifeless. Her spirits failed her as she recognized the daunting task she had set for herself. Her desire to escape from Pemberley once more surfaced and only her steely resolve to close this chapter of her life held her fast to her labor.

Not only was the first draft a disjointed and confusing account, there were too many gaps in the narrative. Minutes ticked by as she anxiously attempted to pinpoint her failure before realizing she had sped too rapidly from the clearing, where she had met him, in her haste to reach Longbourn where the real story would begin. But it had omitted the information about the Tynebridge Asylum and the very few details she could offer about his internment there. She could only repeat what he himself had told her.

His first memory was that he had awakened lying on a bed in a darkened room and had no idea of where he was or how long he'd been there. It was only after the room lightened that he realized he was in a hospital ward. Sometime later, he understood that he had no memory of who he was or where he had come from. He could only add that after that awakening, time had moved in a vacuum until one afternoon as he was walking through the dry gardens of his prison, sirens and church bells began to sound. There was a great uproar and he saw his caretakers running through the gates. He had hesitated to follow them into a world he didn't recognize but his need to escape was over-powering. He had slipped through the forest surrounding the asylum and didn't stop until he reached a small clearing.

The second draft was too cold and clinical. She feared Darcy might regard the letter as a work of fiction. He might even view it as an attempt at blackmail. She understood the problem but was loath to correct it, dreading the emotional impact which would come with it. She had to force herself to acknowledge the fact that this was her story as well, and therein lay the danger. She dared not allow personal feelings to color the events that had transpired so many months ago.

She gave up then and spent the rest of the morning walking around the estate before settling in the massive library trying to distract herself and failing miserably. After a restless night she returned to her task recognizing that a factual account would serve no purpose for either of them. What she had to do was give him a subjective narrative from the moment she awoke and saw him sitting in the clearing to the second he boarded the bus after assuring her mother that he would return that day. She had to do her best to unlock the past which was lying dormant in his memory. She would have only one chance and failure was not an option.

Now accepting that the story had to be told through her eyes and not his, she had a new direction and began to compose paragraphs of every pertinent scene she had shared with him, starting from the moment she awoke in the clearing and saw him sitting on the old stump of a tree, and their first conversation when she had learned of his memory loss. With little emotion she described her own feelings of failure as a nurse who'd been helpless to understand the plight of so many men who were victims of head trauma. Whether her guilt played a part in what she eventually did, she thought it probably had. She had seen so many bodies which would never be whole again, turn away from the light and weep into their pillows in hopeless anguish. She had seen other men with despairing eyes that could not see their futures. Elizabeth recognized all the signs of loss that could cripple the heart and soul of a man who had endured war and had not yet come to terms with peace. Whether she had made up her mind to take him home with her while still in the clearing, she would never know. But the die was cast when she had stopped at the turnoff to the asylum and saw his fear of abandonment. She had not the heart or strength to leave him to his fate. She made no further excuses for the decision which would change the course of his life.

She began again by enlightening him as to the day he had escaped his prison. She painted in narrow strokes that day of celebration when the country went mad, shedding tears of joy that life would return to normal, and tears of fresh grief that friends and family had been lost forever. She wrote of blocked traffic as cars were stopped with offers of beer and ale at every village on their way to Elizabeth's home . She traced their journey from the clearing to the moment when she drove down the road towards the village which had been her whole world for the first eighteen years of her life, and finally ended as they arrived at the small cottage behind the main house. Here, she described this book-filled sanctuary that he would make his own for the next six months, for it was here that he learned to feel safe again. And she dared to believe that he had learned to be happy after so many months filled with despair.

She took him through the rooms of Longbourn, leading him through the warmth of the kitchen where Mrs. Hill promised to fatten him up with good country cooking. She wrote of their mid-morning breaks when they sat down with Mr. And Mrs. Hill and enjoyed a cup of coffee, fresh pastry, and the latest gossip in the village. She described the pleasure he derived from listening to their tales of country life. As his confidence grew, he made good use of her ancient typewriting machine to write down those very stories which he hoped would find a publisher and give him independence.

She continued with the lively discussions though the meals they shared with her parents and how his stammer slowly lessened as he grew more comfortable with them. She described the days he joined her father as he made his rounds in the village and surrounding farms and the many evenings he spent in her father's small library chatting over the chessboard.

She touched lightly on the growing affection the entire household had for him, but dared not go further, fearing Darcy's reaction. In no way did she want him to suspect that there might have been more than familial fondness for him. Hopefully, her demeanor with him in the past few weeks at Pemberley would assure him that she had no ulterior motives. At least she hoped it was so.

How well she remembered those first few days as in her mind's eye she took him by the hand , leading him down the familiar lanes of her childhood. Her description of Meryton and the environs was exact and added to what Mr. Collins had described. Her memory was so clear remembering how she had chatted so nervously as his dark inscrutable eyes fastened on her. Even at that early date he had the power to unnerve her though she would have vehemently denied it... had done so when Lydia had teased her. So many snapshots of time were beginning to surface. He too had teased her as she showed him the old Lucas estate, sharing her nostalgia for the past, lightly mocking her notions of how romantic the long ago really was when she pointed towards the ruins of Netherfield Park.

Eventually they made their way to Oakham Mt., her favorite place to romanticize about the shadowy figures that had come before her. Here, his countenance altered subtly as he reached out and ran his fingers along the trunk of the ancient one which had stood just so for at least two hundred years. When he looked back she remembered how his eyes had clouded. It seemed to her that it was possible that he had seen something of his past...a wisp of memory. She had often wondered if perhaps she mistook memory for imagination for she remembered that particular day so clearly, fearing for the first time that one day he might leave and take up the life that he had forgotten.

As she scribbled page after page, servants came and went, lighting the fire, offering sandwiches and tea, and lighting the lamps as unobtrusively as well-trained servants can do. No experience was too trivial. She shed no blood or sweat but she found that her memories brought back all the agony and heartbreak she had suffered after he disappeared from her life. The pain was intense and her tears which she had contained all these last weeks kept falling freely, blinding her and blurring the pages. Finally she began to fit all the pieces together in what she hoped was a logical representation of his life in Hertfordshire. When at last she pushed the papers away she wept openly, feeling as if the pain of these memories had seared her very soul.

She couldn't imagine what she looked like when she was ushered into the small intimate dining room which Darcy used when he dined alone. But excellent servants they were, serving fine food to a woman with a red nose and swollen eyes caused no one to blink. She didn't dare think of what the conversation downstairs would be like but she was beyond the point of caring. In some ways, allowing her tears to fall so freely had acted as a catharsis. She wanted nothing more than to enter a mode of apathy where she could stop thinking and feeling. She lingered over dinner dreading the task ahead of her. She absolutely despised her typing machine. She made too many mistakes but she was now determined. In her heart she felt that she had come to the end of her story and lately it seemed that her story had begun to remind her of any one of Lydia's favorite novels. Trash and a storyline that bordered on the ridiculous.

After dinner she returned to the library and started to type. She managed four pages in the first hour. Besides the hunt and peck technique of typing she found easier, she had only seven mistakes which she had to white out and type over. At the rate she was going it would be sun-up by the time she finished. She decided to take a break and read what she typed. She leaned back and began to read, imagining how Darcy would react as he read. After two pages she realized that the narrative called for a pen and not a typing machine. The cold print on the page continued to appear too cold and detached. In relief, she filled her fountain pen and set to work and completed the task shortly after three in the morning.

All that was left was the epilogue which she composed the following morning. Here, she changed the tone of the letter feeling that it was imperative that she remain objective, allowing no emotion to color her prose. There would be no mention of the night in the cottage, no hint of anything approaching passion between them. In no way did she want him to think that she was making any emotional demands on him. She prayed that he would understand that she had no ulterior motive for accepting his offer to work at Pemberley. She had merely tried to help him remember the past as unobtrusively as she could. Content with what she had written, she signed her name, blotted her signature and slipped the pages into a large manila envelope and sealed it. She placed it into her drawer and stood up. It was done. Now all she had to think about was if and when she would give him the letter and where she would be when he read it. And what his reaction would be.

Nightmarish visions interrupted her sleep following the completion of the letter. She found herself standing at his desk as he read her confession, watching his face slowly evolving into outrage and disgust. Over and over the scene repeated itself much like a silent film caught in a loop. His voice shouted in silence and revulsion as he reviled her for her wantonness. He accused her of trying to trap him into marriage which she vehemently denied just as silently, but he would not be deterred. How had it come to this she wondered as his fury grew? She had done her best to write a compassionate and unemotional explanation of what had taken place. Why was he so angry? The answer came quickly when he thrust the letter into her hands. She recognized her hand but not the words. With horror she read the letter and it's lurid and graphic description of her seduction at his hand. She had written words of passion demanding that he marry her or face a scandal that would destroy him. Her throat constricted in a silent scream of denial and she awoke in a cold sweat and for a moment found it impossible to discern the difference between reality and a monstrous dream. Her pillow was soaked and her body swathed in damp sheets. She spent the rest of the night in a chair staring out the window, waiting for the sun to rise and a new day to begin. Her life had turned into a living nightmare that regularly invaded her dreams. She wondered dimly just when her love had turned into an exercise in masochism. It had to stop. She had to put an end to it.

After breakfast Elizabeth took a long walk through the surrounding woods of the estate. Now that she had completed the letter she was beginning to have second thoughts especially after the dream. She wondered if perhaps the dream had been a premonition of what might take place. There might not be anger, but there was a distinct possibility that the truth might cause him discomfort and embarrassment and she would have to assure him that their interaction had been completely platonic...that they had been only friends...or possibly his caretaker during his time at Longbourn. Under no circumstances should she let on that they had enjoyed a sexual encounter in the cottage. One thing was certain. She would not hand him the letter and stand there watching him read it. Rather, she'd be long gone, possible hiding under her bed at Longbourn.

At noon she returned to the house and was immediately informed that Mr. Darcy had returned and was waiting for her in the small dining room. Despite her determination to affect an apathetic air, she couldn't help herself. She dashed up the stairs to her room, intent on repairing any damage her walk had caused. She didn't look too bad considering the fact that she had been trudging around the estate for the better part of three hours. Her hair was slightly wild which she dampened for control, and her cheeks glowed rosily. Except for her laddered stockings and muddy boots, she was in good shape. She also improved her looks with a quick change of clothing...blue jersey and matching skirt. Mr. Darcy's favorite color was blue. Hope was still alive, to her exasperation.

He stood up as she entered the room and favored her with an abashed smile, "There you are, Elizabeth. I had begun to think I should send out a search party for you, but came to my senses before I did." His smile deepened somewhat as he regarded her, "You look remarkably well. I must say that country life obviously agrees with you. I find that refreshing as I find that most ladies who come here prefer a sitting room to a garden."

"Perhaps" Elizabeth replied saucily, "they find the wallpaper in your sitting rooms a more interesting study. Or possibly the library is too tempting to ignore. Then, of course, there's your wine cellar which I'm told holds a prodigious amount of the finest liquors in the country."

His response was a soft laugh and a shrug, "At one time I believe it did. What Caroline doesn't know is that there will be a stiff tariff to pay if she has any idea of leaving the country with her booty. The only alternative would be to consume every drop of it and that might be too much even for a lady with her prodigious thirst." He helped her to her chair before seating himself opposite her. "Now", he said, " I wasn't too surprised to learn that Richard and Charles had left Pemberley but it came as a shock to learn that Mr. Collins and my aunt had returned to Town. I hope you didn't feel abandoned."

His nearness was having the usual effect on her emotions, but she was determined to retain her dignity. "Not at all. If I had felt any disquiet, I'd have headed back to Hertfordshire or London. But," she added with a reassuring smile, "I am, as you can see, still here."

"I would have been sorely disappointed if you weren't."

"It's gracious of you to say so, Mr. Darcy."

To her astonishment, Darcy laughed out loud, "You do have a way with words, Miss Bennet."

"So I have been told," she replied, unable to contain her own broad smile. "But back to point, I think love is in the air. Richard has gone to see an old flame and Charles drove off to Town planning to court Charlotte Postlewaite. I did my best to dissuade him from embarking on such a perilous undertaking. I hope he heeded my advice."

"You really can't believe everything my friend says. He has a sense of the ridiculous in his humor. Charlotte has always terrified him. He simply wanted to get a rise out of you."

"He succeeded until I thought about it. I should have known he was just teasing after he proposed practicing the Gypsy spin before the next assembly."

"He stopped in for a late night drink last night. He shows all the signs of being madly in love again. Fortunately the object of his latest infatuation is a very sweet young woman. Jane and he should do very well together. And if it becomes serious, I'll be delighted. As for Mr. Collins and my aunt, I knew that he was making plans to leave the church and tour Europe, but I had no idea he would move so quickly. He's always struck me as the sort of man who would think long and hard before he makes a decision that will change the course of his life in such a permanent fashion."

"He may have been thinking of it for years but lacked the courage or energy. I must confess that seeing your aunt so lively was a revelation. She was positively glowing. Did you happen to see her while in town?"

"I dined with both of them last night. They've decided to take the Orient Express from Paris to Venice, then drive at a leisurely pace as they make their way down south to Rome."

"They won't go on to Constantinople?"

"They have the rest of their lives to travel and don't want to be rushed. They want to spend time in Venice and Florence. And too, they may change their minds and eventually take the train down to Turkey. The only thing they both agree on, is to get to Paris. Once there, anything goes."

"I think before its name is changed I should make an effort to visit the gateway to Asia. Istanbul doesn't hold the same same sense of magic that Constantinople has for me. That old name brings to mind adventure and romance and conjures up all the mysterious scents of the East."

Darcy smiled at her fanciful vision. "I don't know about romance, but it is a journey that won't disappoint. I accompanied my father to that city the summer before I went to Cambridge. Left to my own devices, I'd have been happy to continue on to Cathay. But there was my education, then the care of the estate and then the war...there never seemed to be time for play...and then..."

As he lapsed into silence, Elizabeth watched him carefully searching for a sign of self-pity or a buried memory but she saw only a mild wistfulness. They enjoyed a few moments of a comfortable silence before Elizabeth dared to ask the question though she feared his answer. "Richard mentioned that you might have some interesting news to impart when you returned from town. Is it something you can share with an outsider?"

Darcy regarded her with concern, "Elizabeth, I hope you don't truly feel like an outsider. You've become an integral part of our little family. We've grown very fond of you."

"Have you?"

"You must know that. The way you faced down my formidable aunt was a joy to behold. You brought her back to life and she is happier for it. As are we all. And I can't forget how you managed to rid me of Caroline Bingley. It shortened her contract by six months and for that we were all grateful." He added with a boyish grin, "You actually drove her to drink."

"That was of her own doing," she protested mildly. "But to give the devil his due, she was an excellent Housekeeper. Unfortunately, she alienated everyone in the house. If gossip serves, even the gardener threatened to take up basket weaving if she didn't desist from criticism of his flowers. Apparently she was driving him crazy with her complaints."

Darcy shrugged, "She's always been that way. According to Charles, she was born with delusions of grandeur and has grown bitter with age. England is still a class society and Caroline Bingley is the daughter of a tradesman. She must marry well if she wants to leave the label of middle class behind her."

Elizabeth managed a straight face, "And she chose you as her intended victim. How you must have suffered."

Fully expecting a smile at her teasing remark, her heart sank as he stared at her for a long moment in that unfocused regard that had become all too familiar to her. She couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched his hand until at last he could see her once more.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth" he said softly. "I really don't mean to stare at you, but there is something about your tone of voice...or maybe the tilt of your head...I sometimes think I've known you all my life though I know that's impossible."

Elizabeth waited a moment to steady her voice, "Really? And how long has this been going on?"

"From the moment you walked into my office in Town."

"You didn't show it. Is that why you hired me?"

"Not at all. I hired you because you came highly recommended by Richard and Charlotte. And I liked your attitude and humor. And you didn't appear to be overawed," he added with a smile, "by my presence."

"Perhaps you thought my voice sounded familiar."

"No, I don't think so. Rather it seemed to remind me of something. It's a curious feeling...a wisp of a memory that can't be caught before it slips away."

"Possibly you heard my voice before...at a party, or maybe in a shop. You might even have heard my voice as you passed me on the street."

"If that were the case, I must have seen you and I don't think I'd forget your face." He pushed his plate away, closing the subject. "As for my news,

I've been asked to stand for Parliament."

Elizabeth's shock was profound, her relief pathetic. She had convinced herself that he was in hot pursuit of his own old flame...some rich London socialite... and he had returned only to announce his engagement. "Parliament?" she managed. "You want to enter politics?"

"I'm considering it," he answered in obvious amusement at her reaction. "Am I to assume that you would disapprove?"

"You know what I think of politicians. They're all crooks."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Elizabeth. I don't remember ever discussing politics with you."

She choked on her reply, "Sorry. I must have been thinking of someone else."

"Your Gypsy dancer?"

Elizabeth threw him an icy glare, "Enough of my gypsy dancer! He has as much substance as my dream lover. He was invented for the amusement of your aunt and you know it. But you haven't answered my question. Have you accepted, and if so, am I to assume that I've become redundant? Shall I pack my bags?"

"Would you be so anxious to leave Pemberley? Wouldn't you stay to assist me in my effort to become a crooked politician?"

She ignored his sarcasm, "If you asked, of course I'd stay and help you. But are you sure you're willing to play the game?

"If I decide to run, Elizabeth, I will make sure that my mentors realize I am no cat's paw," he replied dismissively. "As for your part, if you agree, you will retain your title as my private secretary and handle all my correspondence. I also want you to help me with my speeches. Public speaking is not my strength. I've always eschewed public attention. I will rely on you to help me write speeches that will not sound cold and autocratic."

"In other words you want to come off as an everyman, humble and homey, as you aspire to the House of Commons."

"Precisely. Are you up to it?"

"It will be difficult to make you come off as poor and honest but I'll do my best."

After a moment he added "Well, it might all come to naught. Politics might be more convoluted than even I imagined. I was advised that if I wanted to be taken seriously, it would be best if I acquire a wife."

Elizabeth caught her breath. Once more he had her attention. "Surely you're joking," She said.

"I thought so until there was general agreement at the table."

"What did you say?"

"I treated them to my famous glare of disapproval."

"And?"

"I think I've lost my touch. They were unmoved. So naturally, I told them to go to hell." A teasing grin developed as he continued to regard Elizabeth with amusement, "Now, Miss Bennett, I'm willing to forget your Gypsy Dancer if you'll tell me about your dream lover."

Elizabeth's heart beat just a little faster as she could have sworn she was looking into the eyes of Smithy. "Not a chance, Mr. Darcy. I'll take that secret to my grave."

The next few evenings passed pleasantly with intimate dinners and the free imbibing of the new stock that had been delivered. They enjoyed a quiet rapport where he began to open himself to the past when he realized that he was heir to a ten mile square of prime land, responsible for the well-being of hundreds of lives. At first he felt great pride but age had altered his perception of what his life would be once he realized his future was so rigidly planned for him. For the first time in his life he had become envious of Richard's status as a second son. His cousin was free to choose the course of his life, where he himself felt trapped in a life he hadn't asked for. There was no challenge to running such a vast estate. The Industrial Revolution had changed the technology of agriculture. Manual labor and draft animals were out and machines were in. Managers of great farms were university trained leaving too many owners free to escape their responsibilities and too often they headed for the squalor and filth of the city. There they settled in for a life of boredom and nothing good can come from boredom, as his father often warned. The devil always finds mischief for idle hands to do. And for idle minds, there were the gaming tables where men lost great fortunes. Suicides were not unknown committed in drunken stupors and stone cold awareness. He wanted no part of that life, yet he was filled with discontent.

As Darcy continued to describe his feelings, Elizabeth's thoughts wandered back to the past as the pieces in the puzzle began to make sense. She remembered her concern at Smithy's attitude and both she and her father had discussed his lack of curiosity about his past. Knowing next to nothing about amnesia, they had concluded that it was part of his condition. Now she suspected that it went deeper, that at least in some cases, amnesia was a kind of escape mechanism from life. Her first thought was that a concussion or possibly his head wound had let him escape the reality of the hellish war. However, on reflection, it was possible that Pemberley had become such a burden, some part of him sought relief in oblivion. If that was the case, the problem of his unhappiness no longer existed. His demeanor had altered considerably in the past few weeks. She could only assume that the changes he was contemplating would bring a much needed excitement to his life. Gone was the withdrawn man that she had been living with at Pemberley. His steps were lighter, his smile quicker. There was a distinct eagerness in his air as he spoke of the future and she could no longer remember the last time she had seen the key to the cottage. She wasn't sure he still carried it with him. She could only assume that with the future looking so bright he had decided to put the past behind him; the past that included her.

Elizabeth was so deep in her murky thoughts that she hadn't realized that the room had gone silent. She refocused her attention on her companion whose eyes were fixed intently on her. She returned his gaze with a smile, "You're staring at me, Mr. Darcy. What do you see?"

"I do apologize, Elizabeth, but you have the most disconcerting habit of disappearing in the middle of a conversation. I find it captivating. Are you visiting the future or the past?"

Elizabeth laughed softly, "Perhaps it's best you don't know. It might shock you."

"I doubt that."

Elizabeth was sorely tempted to take up the challenge. She could see herself excusing herself, getting the letter and dropping it in his lap. "You're very sure of yourself. You've already admitted that I'm not an open book." When he didn't answer but continued to stare at her, she realized that she was holding her breath. Now she wondered what could possibly be going though his mind? Was it possible that he was beginning to remember her?She might have asked, but Dutch courage hadn't quite reached its zenith. At that thought, she pushed her glass away. Wine and the intimate setting were sending her thoughts on a giddy course to seduction and she was just tipsy enough to find the idea appealing. How the evening might have played out she would not know for their mild flirtation was interrupted by a call from London. When he left the dining room she breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a close call. Closer than she could have imagined for the next morning Darcy had returned to London.


	23. REFLECTION

There were moments of time during the days that followed the departure of Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins when Elizabeth could well imagine that Pemberley had left its earthly plane as if transmuted into a fourth dimension where ticks of a clock no longer existed. Only the changing shades of light and dark could call her to bed or wakefulness, leaving her with a feeling of hopelessness and a roiling sense of his negligence. She knew she was being uncharitable. She knew he owed her nothing. Still, he might at least have called. Unbidden, that last thought drew from her a mortified groan at how far she had fallen with this foolhardy adventure. She was beginning to see herself as a wilted lily in some ghastly railroad novel. It would not do! She had to call a halt to this self-defeating masochism before she began to enjoy it too much. She decided to give him another week...or maybe ten more days to contact her. If he couldn't make an effort during that time, she would pack up and leave and never look back.

The decision made, Elizabeth whiled away her mornings watching the schoolhouse rising board by board, questioning whether the building would ever be put to use. She had begun to doubt it. He seemed to be unable to focus. He no longer resembled the man she had known at Longbourn. That man knew what he wanted and went after it. The man she knew as the master of Pemberley seemed to have been cast in a different mold. She feared he might not have any time or interest in going on with his original plans. He had been so enthusiastic about buying up the long fallow lands around England and growing crops and raising livestock so that the project would be self sustaining, that she had grown excited just to be part of the experiment. Now, however, she had begun to suspect that his interest had waned. Now he was focused on politics and had little interest in discussing his initial plans. Politics paled in comparison with the good that education of the poor could do and Elizabeth felt a keen disappointment that he had apparently lost interest in that project. And if he found his latest pursuit not nearly as challenging as he hoped it would be, or more morally corrupt than he believed it to be, where would his next endeavor lead him? She supposed he might buy himself a beret and start painting portraits. He might even run away and join the circus. For all she knew, he might decide to turn Pemberley into a Bed and Breakfast. Her unkind thoughts were traitorous she knew and were an indication of the bitterness growing in her heart. And so be it. Better than groveling in self-pity.

Afternoons were spent in the library rearranging the lower shelves which should have displayed only light novels and adventures catering to the taste of children and the gentler sex. Unfortunately someone with a more prurient taste in literature had chosen, then carelessly replaced several of them in the lower shelves. With Caroline Bingley and Lady Catherine in residence for several months, Elizabeth wasn't too surprised to see several books displaying paintings of the "other" sex, but she was shocked and amused to find ancient books written in Greek and Latin with graphic drawings indicating that the human body was capable of the most tortuous contortions which apparently gave them much pleasure. She climbed the ladder with a dozen or so of the more interesting books and placed them out of the reach of those with weak hearts and no sense of humor.

In the upper shelves, she found the journals and diaries of the families who had made their home at Pemberley decades and centuries earlier. Most were dry uninteresting accounts of everyday expenses and the dinners and balls they were invited to. There were no indications of flirtations or romance, nor of happiness in their marriages. Either these ghosts from the past lacked imagination or they were circumspect whenever they put pen to paper. The only striking evidence she found of what was important to them were the many comments she found during the Napoleonic Wars. Apparently, the cricket season had suffered mightily owing to loss of investment and manpower. Of the young happy couple in the portrait which still so entranced her, there was not a trace. Any memory that may have lingered in the home they had shared remained blurred and illusive, and she was saddened to know there was a good chance that they would continue to be so during the remainder of her time at Pemberley. And maybe that was a good thing. If she learned that their happiness had turned ugly and bitter, disillusionment would be complete. She preferred to believe that their marriage had been blissful...or at the very least hadn't ended up with threats to strangle each other once a week.

In desperate boredom she spent a couple of evenings trying to renew her acquaintance with the Bronte sisters hoping her own woes would pale in significance to those of Catherine and Jane. Unfortunately, her brain refused to co-operate. Her mind digressed into flights of fancy, especially when Heathcliff arrived on the scene. No longer that dark-skinned gypsy whose ungoverned passions harbored cruelty and vengeance, but transmogrified into the handsome master of Pemberley, ruled by all the passions...which as the saying goes...would make a schoolgirl blush.

Elizabeth sighed and tossed Wuthering Heights aside and reached for Jane Eyre. Here she paused, thinking of the master of Thornfield, another romantic figure whose passion would eventually betray him. He also preferred to forget the past. In her growing bitterness, Elizabeth could well imagine herself locked in the tower, mad as a hatter, with Caroline Bingley as her nurse and drinking companion.

Frustration and anger lying beneath the surface, had begun to simmer. She was lonely, feeling unloved and weary of the situation. How long could unrequited love endure? She'd felt at least a sexual tension between them on the last night she saw him. Had it been only wishful thinking? He'd said that she had become an integral part of his family. Was this how he treated his family? It surely wasn't the man she'd known at Longbourn. But she had to remember that the man she knew, no long existed. He was Mr. Darcy, a man she didn't know and the irony of referring to her employer as Mr. Darcy signaled at least a subconscious withdrawal from the situation. She had no one but herself to blame for her continuing heartache and she knew that it couldn't end unless she left Pemberley. The alternative was finding herself ten years down the road employed as a nanny tending to his brood of brats. She sighed, appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken, and switched off the light, determined to sleep her worries away.

The monotony of days passing by at a snail's pace ended abruptly three days later with the arrival of Anne De Bourgh just in time for the cocktail hour. If Lydia hadn't kept her apprised of the changes she had made to Anne, Elizabeth doubted she would have recognized the young woman who returned to Pemberley. She was no longer the brown mouse. She was no mouse at all. Lydia had worked a miracle. Mousy brown hair had been colored into a rich chestnut and shingled into an androgynous style favored by young women. Why women wanted to look like young men, Elizabeth still couldn't imagine, but in Anne's case it had done wonders for her boyish figure. With shadowed eyes and a dress the color of a foamy sea, Anne De Bough was a sight to behold and she knew it. She was giddy with happiness and wasn't afraid to show it. She twirled around the drawing only stopping long enough to strike a pose she had seen in the various fashion gazettes Lydia had bestowed upon her. "I feel so pretty," she twittered and chirped like a tiny songbird with every pose, before she finally dropped into an armchair in exhaustion and regarded Elizabeth with an infectious grin. "So what do you think?" she asked, "And don't tell me I'm acting silly. I know that!"

Lydia had not just draped clothes on Anne but had caught the essence of the woman. Her dress was quietly elegant but modest by the day's standard. It was more the way she carried herself with that mysterious combination of shyness and madcap bravado. Her dark eyes flashed with good humor letting her audience in on the joke. Clothes and a new hairdo had made the woman and Elizabeth was delighted with the result. "I hardly recognize you," Elizabeth replied. "You've turned into a butterfly. You truly are a stunning woman, Anne, and never forget it. You're beautiful!"

Anne blushed prettily. "No" she replied, "not yet. Lydia says that I won't become beautiful until I mature more and stop giggling nervously when a man offers me a compliment. She says I must learn to look supercilious when a man looks me over and to keep my mouth shut lest something stupid or intelligent slips out. She says that there will be plenty of time for him to learn about me once he is in full lust and must have me."

Elizabeth sighed, "My sister has a book full of silly bromides, none of which she follows herself. She says and does anything she pleases and lets the chips fall where they may. I've seen grown men blanch hearing some of her opinions. She sees herself as progressive, a woman born for the future, where she stands on equal footing with men. And, naturally, there will be no "obey" in the marriage ceremony. But she's living in a fool's paradise. Equality will never come in our lifetime. It's a man's world and they rule with an iron fist. So I suggest you tread lightly when dealing with male acquaintances. You're lovely, wealthy, and well-read. There is no reason to sit mute when in conversation with a young man. Just soften your opinions and try not to yawn in his face if he becomes too tedious. I love my sister dearly, but some of her ideas lack good judgment. Did you know that she's actively searching for the perfect man...someone handsome and rich? If there is any other requirement for her future happiness, I've never heard her mention it."

"Yes, I know. In a moment of weakness I came close to suggesting Will, but my wounds are still too fresh. I don't think I could bear seeing him in love with another woman."

In the silence that followed, Elizabeth tried to gather her thoughts but nothing sensible came to mind. Had they been a couple? If so, when? Before the war? After his return to Pemberley? How serious was it? "I didn't know you were a couple," she finally managed.

"Neither did he," Anne laughed shortly. "I was in love all by myself. Lydia says that it was probably only a childhood crush and maybe it was. But it hurts just the same. With the exception of Georgiana and Jane, the entire family has been teasing me for years. A part of me knew that I didn't have a chance with him but I couldn't seem to help myself. My eyes had a mind of their own. I could be in a room crowded with family and friends and I could see only him, could only hear his voice. There were times I thought I was losing my mind, I was so obsessed with him. My days were difficult but I could manage them with walks in the park and spending time in museums and bookstores. But I came to dread the evenings, yet looked forward to them when I could indulge in obscene fantasies where I was seduced by the Sheik of Araby who looked suspiciously like William Darcy. Oh, Elizabeth, you must think I'm a horrible woman."

Elizabeth refused to believe that. Anne was simply offering another version of her own trials and tribulations. She managed a smile that wasn't too ironic, "Men aren't the only ones who fantasize. Don't get me started on mine."

Somewhat reassured, Anne sighed. "I treated Charles abominably. He's so sweet and he didn't deserve it. I used him just to hear his stories of their college days at Cambridge. I imposed myself on Georgiana, pretending that we were great friends just to hear more stories about him. I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself." Anne took a short breath before continuing her tale of woe, "Have you ever loved someone who didn't love you back?" Mercifully, Anne didn't wait for Elizabeth's answer. "Well, don't! There's nothing to gain and everything to lose. You exchange dignity and common sense for daydreams and sleepless nights. Not to mention the constant fear that one day he will fall in love with someone else and you won't be able to bear it. I suppose I could stand it if he fell for the likes of another Caroline Bingley. Would serve him right. And there I go again, being spiteful. But I'll get over it. I have to. I'm for the continent and have no doubt you'll hear someday that I've married a prince who adores me just the way I am. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Happily, Elizabeth was spared an answer when the dinner bell rang. But her trial was not yet over. There were three servants overseeing dinner so Anne mercifully changed the subject from sexual frustration to her shopping sprees in London. Elizabeth endured three courses of lacy underwear in astonishing hues, to the shoes, silk stockings, dresses, skirts, blouses and jerseys she had purchased under Lydia's guidance By dessert Anne had moved to accessories, jewelry and perfume. Elizabeth's ears were ringing and her head spinning. She couldn't imagine what the staff thought listening to this litany of unchecked spending. Though Darcy was known to be very generous employer, Anne's dress no doubt would constitute a month's wage for the servants at Pemberley. The girl was obviously ignoring Lydia's instruction to keep her mouth shut lest she say something stupid.

By the time they returned to the drawing room, Elizabeth was mentally exhausted, but the ordeal was not yet complete. Anne ordered two brandies, then dismissed the servants before returning to her source of misery, picking up exactly where she had left off before the dinner bell had rung. Elizabeth wondered idly if becoming beautiful had short-circuited Anne's brain. Whether the wine that Anne had imbibed freely at dinner or her new sense of freedom, Anne continued to ramble on about her lost love and her guilt. She didn't seem to require an answer so Elizabeth allowed her to ramble unchecked. There really wasn't much she could say since she found her own condition less than promising. Darcy had been gone for more than a week and not a word had she received from him. Once more it seemed likely that he had forgotten her existence.

At length, Anne finally changed the subject, "Lydia says that I should go to Paris and study all the great writers. Dos Passos, Fitzgerald, Joyce, Samuel Becket. All living in one city...can you imagine? Maybe I'll rent a garret and take a lover. He can be my muse. Or vice versa."

That was all utter nonsense. Once the novelty of freedom, her new wardrobe, and the alcohol she'd consumed had worn off, she had no doubt Anne would settle down and behave herself. "You will do no such thing."

"Probably not," She agreed with a giggle, "but Lydia says I should write my own story. I just have to find the plot, then fill it with characters. For a start, I've decided to join my stepmother and Mr. Collins on their trip to the continent. They're only planning to go as far as Rome, but I might continue on to Constantinople. Care to join me?"

Elizabeth decided to ignore the question when Anne paused to refresh her drink, and took advantage of this short interim by asking the question which had consumed her for the past week. "I don't suppose you've seen Mr. Darcy lately? I haven't heard a word from him since he left Pemberley."

"Last I heard he headed up North to the lakes. Knowing him," Anne shrugged, "he could be gone for weeks or months." Unaware of the effect her words had on Elizabeth, Anne dismissed the subject and merrily continued, "I'm serious, Elizabeth. Why not join me? Think of the fun we could have.

Elizabeth felt an overwhelming grief take hold of her heart. The room seemed to darken as black despair settled in. It was all so hopeless and Anne's offer was tempting. Writing her own story had become more difficult due, no doubt, to writer's block. All her characters had abandoned her in search of their own stories. Her hero had gone missing once more. The heroine was locked in the past, smothering in sorrow, trapped by her own design. She could see the writing on the wall and it didn't look promising. If she had any sense she would pack up and leave with Anne and put the past behind her completely. But hope springs eternal, and she still had a few days to wait for his call before she packed up and left. She desperately wanted to see him one more time. "I'm supposed to help him with his speeches," She managed dully.

Anne frowned, "What speeches?"

"For the coming election."

Anne waved her hand in dismissal, "Oh that. It's off before it began."

"Come again?"

"Did you know that he was summoned to Lambeth Palace? Or as Will described it...he was bade to call on the pompous ass of Canterbury."

"You mean the Archbishop?"

"Oh how I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when that conversation took place."

"What did the Archbishop want with him?"

Anne snickered, "He wished to advise him."

"On what?"

"On...on..."

Here, Anne began to laugh so hard Elizabeth couldn't understand a word she was saying. Despite the shock she was feeling at this news, Elizabeth, herself, began to laugh and it was some time before they were able to calm down. "Now, Anne, tell me all!"

Anne took several long breaths before attempting to speak. Finally, struggling to get the words out, "He wanted to advise him... on...on... how he should go about procuring a proper wife which was suitable...for a Member of Parliament. Good soul he thinks he is, he had...he had a list of acceptable females he advised Will to contemplate." Another deep breath and a gulp of brandy enabled her to continue. "Mind you, I had this all from Georgiana who found nothing amusing about the Archbishop of Canterbury acting like a pimp. And apparently neither did Will. According to Georgiana, Will's hair was on fire, his nostrils flaring like an incensed stallion when he came home from the meeting. He stomped around the drawing room sputtering and spluttering, incapable of rational speech. Finally at a loss, he marched down the hall and slammed into the library with orders not to be disturbed. He spent the night drinking and talking to himself."

Elizabeth fell back in her chair in shock and some dismay though it was tinged with amusement and relief, "Anne, how much of this story is embroidered? It all sounds like a French farce."

"Well, Will's hair was not actually on fire, but the rest is true. Georgiana would never embellish what happened. She adores her brother and she was distraught to see him in such a state. You have no idea what she went through when he was missing for so long. And when he came back from the dead she was so grateful she ignored the change in him."

"How had he changed?"

"For one thing, we couldn't imagine why he was so tolerant of Caroline being his housekeeper or that my stepmother and her boyfriend were living in his house. He didn't seem to care about Pemberley anymore. When he was here, he wandered around like some lost soul. He spent most of his time in Town locked away in his office or wandering the streets. He complained about his headaches but refused to see a doctor. And most nights he spent with a bottle of brandy as his only companion. This went on for months. As if that wasn't bad enough, he would disappear for days without a word of warning which terrified Georgie. Seeing him so distraught, she began to fear for his sanity as well as her own. And meanwhile, I was afraid I was losing my mind with all the day and night dreaming that had become the center of my own little universe. Jane was mooning over Charles but keeping a stiff upper lip. Charles was pretending that I would eventually see him as the man of my dreams and Charlotte was pretending she wasn't madly in love with Richard."

Elizabeth's eyes widened shock. "Charlotte?"

Anne smirked. "Oh, yes. She thinks she's so clever. She says that the entire family is just a pack of dysfunctional loonies and we should learn to live with it. Her answer for everything. But Jane and I have known for years that Charlotte is just as crazy as we are. She's always going on about Richard not growing up. And he's always laughing at her saying "You're crazy about me, aren't you sweetheart?" "This, of course, inevitably throws her into a rage. I've actually seen her so mad that she's forgotten to put a cigarette into that ebony holder of hers and puff and blow out non-existent smoke."

Elizabeth shook her head at the irony of the situation. Anne was painting an hilarious picture of two more love affairs that seemed to be as ridiculous as her own. Didn't the course of love ever run smoothly? Didn't anyone fall in love without drama? She'd have to ask her mother about her own courtship. She might even consult with the couple in the portrait. With that last thought, Elizabeth decided they had gone too far off point. "Anne, did Mr. Darcy ever say where he'd been? Did he remember anything?"

Anne shook her head. "By common consent we didn't ask him about those missing months and he didn't volunteer. We were just happy that he was home safe. We speculated of course...especially with that habit of his with that key. And too, we were afraid that if he remembered those lost months, he might forget his family again. We decided to leave well enough alone and let nature take its course. And he's improved considerably in the last few weeks. He's laughing again and seems to enjoy his guests once more." Anne stopped speaking and regarded Elizabeth with interest and narrowed eyes. An arched brow raised a question.

Elizabeth ignored the silent query, "So, you've decided to spread your wings and fly away. It sounds wonderful."

"Yes. And there's no reason you can't join me. Or have you fallen in love with Pemberley and can't tear yourself away?"

Elizabeth brushed aside the sarcasm, "I might just take you up on your offer. Pemberley is empty now and rather lonely. From what you say, Mr. Darcy might absent himself for weeks. Since he hasn't bothered to let me know what his plans are, I can only assume he no longer has any use for me. To tell the truth I'm bored to distraction." She hoped her response would allay any suspicion Anne might have concerning her relationship with Darcy.

"Lydia can manage five days in Paris and then you and I can take the train down to Turkey. Lydia thinks a change of scenery would do you a world of good. She's under the impression that you're miserable. Are you miserable, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth sensed the question hadn't been asked lightly and tried to answer honestly. "No more than usual. The trouble is I've grown distrustful of any decision I make. My story would never be on the Best Seller list in the London Times. Becoming a nurse was my first mistake and not quitting after I emptied my first chamber pot, my second. Then came my third when I refused to give up when I saw what a bayonet could do to flesh. Then I filled my life taking courses in studies which I will probably never use. Wasted years...all of them. And what was my next decision? Against my better judgment, I took this job as incompetent as I was, and ended up in isolation with time on my hands, reviewing the past, and to my embarrassment, began to wallow in my own self-inflicted misery. I confess that my goals since I left nursing have been as elusive as a will o' the wisp. I think perhaps it's time to close this chapter in my life. But let me think about it."

Anne regarded Elizabeth somberly, "Oh, Elizabeth, how I envy you for your fearlessness. All my knowledge of life comes solely from books while you were out in the world living life to the fullest. I'm the one who should bemoan my wasted years. But no more. I won't deny that I waver between anxiety and excitement, but I just can't go back to the life I've been living. I just can't. I speak French and I can get by with Italian, so I may not make it as far as Constantinople, but I can get to Milan or Venice for a start. "It will be the adventure of a lifetime. If we're lucky, we'll find two princes. One for both of us."

The following morning Anne slept late and as a consequence, Elizabeth didn't see her until luncheon when she arrived in the dining room looking the worse for wear due to her indulgence the previous evening. "Do I need to apologize for last night?" She asked shyly.

"Enjoy thy youth," Elizabeth quoted, "it will not stay. For oh, it is not always May!"

Anne thought for a moment before responding with a sardonic smile, "And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

Elizabeth regarded Anne with amusement and affection. "You're a clever woman, Anne. I predict that you will be a very happy woman too. Just choose the characters in your story with care. If you don't, you'll learn what real heartbreak is and you might never recover."

"And you know that how?"

Elizabeth shrugged, "I don't believe it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Now let's eat and talk about something more pleasant. When do you sail for France?"

Anne's spirits lifted quickly with the question. "Four weeks, and I can hardly wait. Have you given any thought about joining us?"

In truth, Elizabeth had given the invitation a great deal of thought during the sleepless night. Looking back on the previous five years, she realized she hadn't had much fun. Nursing school followed by a three year stint in Sussex and ending with this time at Pemberley she had not 'Enjoyed the fragrance of thy prime.' Spending a week in Paris with two young women who were determined to have fun sounded enticing. On the other hand, seeing lovers strolling down the boulevard wouldn't be conducive to mending a broken heart. "I don't know, Anne. My parents are going up to Edinburgh next week and I've half promised to join them." It wasn't a complete lie for they had invited her because they were worried about her despite her assurances that she was perfectly fine. She'd never been able to fool them. She was able to soothe their concerns on the phone, but she wouldn't have had a chance to fool them when face to face. They thought she was still mourning the loss of Smithy. If they somehow learned the truth about the situation they would both be distraught and she wouldn't have them hurt for anything in the world. But of course, the truth was that she didn't want to leave England. She didn't want to leave Pemberley. She seemed incapable of rational thinking. She didn't know what to do.

It was perhaps only her imagination, but when she bid Anne a fond farewell later that afternoon, she suspected that Anne knew the truth. Whether Lydia had let slip something or she recognized the signs of hopelessness, Anne hugged her tight and thanked her for introducing her to Lydia. "You've changed my life forever, Elizabeth. I'll always love you for your kindness. She turned towards her car and took a few steps then turned back. "I wish you luck, Elizabeth. And who knows? He may be back before you know it." With those words of wisdom, she slipped into her Crossley convertible and drove off to her future.


End file.
